OR  THE  DEAD  ? 


By  AMEXIB  RIVES. 

12mo.     LARGE    PRINT.     WITH    PORTRAIT. 


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This  edition  contains  a  preface  written  by  the 
author,  giving  an  explanation  of  her  motive  in  writing 
the  book  and  answering  the  objections  of  her  critics. 


OPINIONS  OF  THE  PRESS. 

"  There  is  no  reason  why  a  lady  who  has  written  with  such  remark- 
-able  power,  and  who  is  in  the  very  flush  and  dawn  of  her  young  life, 
should  not,  with  experience,  observation,  and  study,  win  a  place  in  our 
literature  equalled  only  among  female  authors  by  George  Eliot  alone. 
The  wonderful  book  of  this  young  authoress  has  perhaps  made  a  deeper 
impression  upon  our  American  literature  than  any  work  of  fiction  since 
'  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin.'  "—New  York  Herald. 

"  No  story  ever  published  in  this  country  created  more  stir  and  con 
troversy  than  this  one.  By  many  the  work  has  been  pronounced  a 
masterpiece  of  genius."— Baltimore  News. 

"  The  book  is  widely  read.  Of  its  success  as  a  piece  of  good  compo 
sition  there  can  be  no  doubt.  The  story  is  most  peculiar— intense— full 
of  fire  and  an  unquenchable  love."— New  York  School  Journal. 

"Amelie  Kives  has  talent  of  high  order,  and  she  seems  to  know  what 
to  write  to  make  her  the  literary  talk  of  the  time."—  Wheeling  Intelli 
gencer. 

"  It  has  splendor  of  imagination  and  exquisite  description ;  perfect 
figures,  with  all  the  hurried,  quick  movement  of  its  dramatic  incidents ; 
is  almost  perfect  in  execution."— Lafayette  Sunday  Leader. 

"The  novel  is  exceedingly  striking,  full  of  color-language,  like  a 
brilliant  painting,  and  strong  in  its  drawing,  like  a  magnificent  etch 
ing." — Pennsylvanian. 

"  The  volume  takes  high  rank  in  the  department  which  marks  the 
most  notable  achievements  of  American  letters  at  the  present  day."— 
New  York  Commercial,  Advertiser. 


***  For  sale  by  all  Booksellers,  or  will  be  sent  by  the  Publishers,  post-paid, 
on  receipt  of  the  price. 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY, 

715  and  717  Market  St.,  Philadelphia. 


THE 


WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN 


BY 

AMELIE  KIVES, 


AUTHOR  OP  "THE  QUICK  OR  THE  BEAD?"  ETC. 


L,  £.  c. 


On  the  earth  the  broken  arcs;  in  heaven  the  perfect  round." 

EGBERT  BROWNING. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
J.   B.   LIPPINCOTT   COMPANY. 

1889. 


Copyright,  1889,  by  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY. 


^  $_All  rights  reserved*! 


TO 

MY  DEAR  FATHER  AND  MOTHER, 

A  THANK-OFFERING. 


RI11972 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 


I. 

WHAT  was  one  to  do  with  a  young  girl  who 
sketched  ideal  heads  on  her  slate  underneath  half- 
finished  sums  in  decimal  fractions,  who  altered  the 
profiles  of  the  Roman  emperors  in  her  Italian  his 
tory,  and  who  frankly  declared  that  the  unexplained 
draperies  above  the  figures  in  the  Sistine  Madonna 
reminded  her  disagreeably  of  the  parted  curtains  in  a 
coup&-lit  ?  Miss  Matilda  Herbert  acknowledged  her 
self  at  a  loss.  She  even  suggested,  on  occasions,  the 
advisability  of  resigning  her  position  as  governess  in 
the  Demarini  household.  To  this,  however,  the 
countess  would  never  so  much  as  give  ear.  Her 
good  Herbert  was  as  much  a  part  of  her  daily  life 
as  her  warm  bath  or  her  mandarin  orange  before 
breakfast.  She  had  superintended  the  education  of 
Ilva  for  ten  years,  why  not  for  half  as  many  more  ? 
Besides,  one  could  easily  prevent  any  tampering  with 
the  imperial  outlines  by  purchasing  an  unillustrated 
history ;  and  as  for  the  presumptuous  criticisms  of 
Raphael,  her  good  Herbert  had  only  to  close  her  ears 
and  affect  deafness. 

7 


OF  THE  SUN. 

When  Ilva  began  the  JEneid,  however,  it  was  even 
more  painful.  She  openly  ridiculed  the  famous  hero, 
and  not  only  laughed  but  drew  him  to  scorn  on  that 
ever-to-be-dreaded  slate, — yes,  pictured  him  in  ghastly 
white  outlines,  with  tears  twice  the  size  of  his  noble 
head  coursing  down  entirely  to  the  wooden  frame  of 
her  slate. 

"He  is  always  crying,"  she  said.  " Dio  mio ! 
fancy  trying  to  make  a  hero  of  a  man  who  is  always 
as  damp  as  they  say  the  climate  of  England  is  !  He 
cries  for  everything, — absolutely.  The  fires  of  love  ? 
Pouf !  He  could  have  put  them  out  with  a  bucket 
of  tears  in  less  than  twenty  minutes.  He  a  hero  ! 
He  was  an  ass.  See,  here  are  his  ears.  Look, 
signorina,  I  make  his  ears  !"  And  at  this  juncture 
she  would  hold  up  the  slate  with  another  libellous 
representation  of  the  celebrated  Greek. 

Ilva  was  at  ten  a  very  tall  child,  with  a  figure 
which,  though  delicate,  was  supple  and  strong  as 
steel.  Her  hair,  of  a  pale  silverish  gold,  suggestive 
of  moonlight  through  amber,  grew  in  five  well-de 
fined  points  above  her  noble,  low  brow.  Her  skin 
had  the  clear  whiteness  of  almonds  which  have  been 
soaked  in  water.  Her  eyes,  large  and  lustrous,  were 
the  tint  of  a  spring  rain-cloud, — that  indescribable 
bluish  gray-violet  which  seems  to  make  blue  cold  by 
contrast,  gray  harsh,  and  violet  sentimental. 

Her  nose  and  mouth,  while  handsome,  were  too 
large  for  her  face,  at  present.  In  a  word,  with  some 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  9 

very  lovely  points  she  was  plain,  and  with  decided 
grace  of  movement  she  was,  on  occasion,  awkward. 
Being  entirely  aware  of  these  disheartening  facts,  she 
felt  them  the  more  keenly,  perhaps,  as  her  little  friend 
Nathali  Zanova  was  a  dainty  piece  of  plump  perfec 
tion,  whose  nurse  was  stopped  many  times  a  day  with 
admiring  exclamations  and  inquiries:  "Oh,  what  a 
beautiful  little  angel !  What  hair  !  What  eyes  ! — 
like  a  fawn's.  One  could  see  the  little  beauty  was 
of  the  nobility;"  and  then  sometimes  in  an  aside, 
"  What  a  contrast !  The  other  has  fine  hair  and  eyes, 
to  be  sure,  but  so  pale;  and  then  her  mouth  and 
nose !  She  makes  a  capital  foil,  however.  The  little 
cherub's  mother  must  be  a  clever  woman."  Nathali, 
for  her  part,  was  as  conscious  of  her  charms  as  her 
friend  was  of  her  defects,  and  had  a  little  strut  which 
she  assumed  upon  the  street  or  in  the  public  gardens, 
and  which  irritated  Ilva  to  a  limitless  degree.  This 
was,  of  .course,  when  they  were  much  younger.  Na 
thali  was  now  twelve,  and  Ilva  ten. 

She  was  not  so  intimate  with  Nathali  as  of  yore, 
finding  her  too  much  occupied  in  coveting  the  toilets 
of  her  mother's  guests,  and  musing  upon  the  prob 
able  magnificence  of  her  future  marriage,  which  she 
frankly  avowed  she  hoped  would  take  place  almost 
immediately  after  her  dtibut.  Ilva  did  not  care  for 
toilets,  and  had  startlingly  precocious  ideas  concerning 
love  and  matrimony.  On  the  eve  of  her  tenth  birth 
day  she  had  begun  a  romance  in  the  following  manner : 


10  THE  WITNESS   OF  THE  SUN. 

"  Married  love  is  like  champagne  with  the  sparkles 
out."  This  sentence  the  good  and  indefatigable  Her 
bert  had  found  and  at  once  torn  up ;  but,  as  II va 
said,  with  an  expressive  little  grin  which  showed 
both  rows  of  sharp  little  teeth,  "  No  matter  !  It  is 
written  in  my  brain.  You  cannot  tear  my  brain  up 
and  put  it  in  your  waste-basket,  Herbert.  That  is 
all." 

She  was  very  moderate  in  her  ambitions.  She 
only  desired  to  become  a  painter  more  great  than 
Sanzio,  a  poet  more  original  than  Dante,  and  a 
novelist  more  striking  than  Alessandro  Manzoni. 

The  countess,  who  was  perhaps  fonder  of  her  peace 
than  of  the  Demarini  jewels,  did  not  occupy  herself 
much  with  the  affairs  of  her  little  daughter,  beyond 
seeing  that  she  had  plenty  of  clothes  and  school- 
books,  and  taking  her  sometimes  to  drive  in  her 
victoria. 

Ilva  decidedly  preferred  walking  alone  to  driving 
with  her  mother.  At  the  back  of  the  Villa  Dema 
rini  there  rose  abruptly  a  steep  hill,  in  whose  side 
were  set  rough  stone  steps,  which  led  to  a  level  space 
on  top,  crowned  with  olive-trees  and  ilex  and  the 
ruins  of  a  little  marble  temple.  There  was  also  a 
marble  seat,  with  some  Latin  words  curving  about 
its  weather-beaten  back.  There  were  numberless 
grasshoppers  and  lizards,  and  a  rose-tree  which  was 
in  full  bloom,  its  red  petals  resting  upon  the  broken 
limbs  of  a  fallen  wood-god  below,  like  drops  of 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  H 

fragrant  blood.  Still  farther  up  there  were  pines. 
The  hill-side  was  tawny  and  resinous  with  the  with 
ered  needles.  The  living  leaves  above  seemed  ever 
mourning  their  dead  comrades  below ;  all  night  and 
all  day  they  sighed  ceaselessly.  Then  there  were 
always  orioles  in  the  great  oleanders,  so  tame  that 
they  would  peck  crumbs  from  the  girl's  hands  and 
even  from  the  top  of  her  bright  head.  There  could 
be  nothing  more  delightful,  Ilva  thought,  than  to 
lie  at  one's  ease  along  that  old  marble  seat,  with 
one's  locked  hands  for  a  pillow,  and  watch  the  rest 
less  blue  of  the  sea  between  the  serpent-like  stems 
of  the  old  .olive-trees.  Their  leaves  had  the  dusty 
silver  of  a  moth's  wing,  even  in  the  brightest  sun 
light,  and  their  gentle  clapper  reminded  this  some 
what  fantastic  child  of  a  subdued  accompaniment  of 
castanets  to  which  the  sunlight  danced.  One  could 
see  so  far,  too,  on  every  side.  There  lay  the  village 
to  the  right,  its  white  walls  and  houses  glittering  in 
the  garish  light,  like  the  foam-cap  of  that  great  green 
wave  of  verdure  which  rolled  all  the  way  from  the 
foot  of  the  distant  mountains.  Then  to  the  left  the 
pretty  huddling  of  another  little  village,  farther  away, 
among  its  palms  and  olives  and  pomegranates  and 
almond-trees,  and  the  white  gleam  of  the  broad  road, 
and  the  dashes  of  color  in  the  skirts  of  the  peasant- 
women  who  moved  along  it  to  and  from  the  village, 
some  with  great  panniers  of  lemons  and  oranges  upon 
their  shoulders,  some  driving  or  riding  the  shag-eared 


12  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

little  donkeys  that  ambled  placidly  beneath  similar 
burdens.  From  this  delectable  eminence  they  were 
only  blurs  of  pale  and  ruddy  gold  to  II va,  in  the 
same  way  that  the  sea  was  only  a  vast  twinkle,  as 
vividly  blue  as  the  wet  wing  of  a  bird  that  flies 
through  a  sunbeam  while  one  looks.  There  were  no 
waves,  only  that  endless,  tireless  dance  of  azure  light 
which  reminded  the  girl  of  the  breath-broken  light 
of  the  sapphires  which  she  was  sometimes  allowed 
to  clasp  about  her  mother's  throat  on  grand  occasions. 
Yes,  that  was  just  the  way 'they  shimmered.  How 
if  one  were  a  giantess  and  had  a  giant  lover  to  whom 
one  might  say,  "  No,  never  will  I  be  thy  wife  until 
thou  hast  hardened  that  sea  there  into  a  sapphire 
pendant,  for  which  thou  must  also  twist  me  a  great 
rope  of  golden  stars  and  of  sunbeams.  Yes,  and 
when  thou  hast  completed  that,  I  will  have  thee  drag 
down  the  canopy  of  heaven  to  make  me  a  robe,  and 
I  will  have  also  the  sun  for  a  clasp  to  my  girdle,  and 
the  Milky  Way  for  a  veil,  and  I  will  have — yes,  I 
will  have— I  will  have " 

II. 

But  here  she  had  been  interrupted  in  her  soliloquy. 
She  knew  who  he  was  the  moment  she  looked  up. 
She  had  seen  his  photograph  the  afternoon  before, 
when  she  had  been  allowed  to  come  in  for  dessert  at 
luncheon  and  the  people  at  table  had  been  discussing 
him.  He  was  the  young  Russian  who  had  just  writ- 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  13 

ten  a  terrible  novel,  for  which  he  was  to  have  been 
exiled  to  Siberia,  but,  owing  to  some  powerful  influ 
ence,  the  Czar  had  merely  banished  him  instead. 
She  had  wished  then  with  all  her  heart  to  see  him 
and  speak  with  him.  She  thought  perhaps  that  he 
would  listen  to  some  of  her  manuscripts  and  have  a 
sympathy  for  her.  She  too  was  going  to  be  a  great 
novelist.  Perhaps  she  might  even  be  banished  from 
Italy  some  day.  She  had  been  extremely  angry  when 
her  mother  told  her  that  she  could  not  possibly  allow 
her  to  be  at  luncheon  again  to-day.  Ilva's  anger 
was  of  the  steely,  white-hot  kind  that  always  burns 
one's  self  far  more  than  one's  adversary.  She  had 
come  to  her  olive-hidden  retreat  as  usual,  and  had 
brought  with  her  some  sheets  of  note-paper,  upon 
which  she  had  written  again,  in  large,  determined 
letters,  "  Married  love  is  like  champagne  with  the 
sparkles  out."  How  that  would  have  impressed  the 
young  Eussian, — that  sentence  which  she  felt  to  be 
masterly !  She  was  sure  no  one  would  have  sus 
pected  that  a  little  girl  of  ten  had  originated  it. 
And  in  his  photograph  he  had  such  kind,  deep  eyes, 
and  such  a  gentle,  high-arched  mouth.  She  was 
sure  that  he  would  have  encouraged  her  and  felt  for 
her.  And  then  to  be  denied  all  these  delightful  pos 
sibilities  merely  because  she  was  yet  in  short  frocks 
and  wore  her  hair  in  a  hideous  queue!  She  had 
torn  the  thick  bands  apart,  in  a  kind  of  impotent 
frenzy,  as  this  thought  had  come  to  her,  and  was 


14  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

lying  back  among  their  riotous  splendor,  when  the 
voice  had  interrupted  her. 

Nadrovine  thought  her  asleep  until  her  murmured 
soliloquy  caught  his  ear,  and  he  listened  in  silence 
until  she  hesitated;  then  he  interrupted  her  with 
these  words  : 

"And  what  wilt  thou  have  next,  little  Titaness? 
Possibly  the  keys  of  paradise  to  hang  up  in  thy 
drawing-room  under  a  knot  of  scarlet  ribbon.  Or 
is  blue  thy  color?" 

"  I  do  not  know  quite  what  you  mean,  signer," 
she  replied,  sitting  erect,  and  gathering  back  her 
unbound  hair  with  both  hands.  "  I  am  sorry  you 
heard  me  saying  such  silly  things.  You  will  think 
me  very  foolish." 

"  I  don't  see  that  there  was  anything  very  silly 
in  your  words,"  said  Nadroviue,  kindly.  "  To  tell 
you  the  truth,  I  thought  them  very  pretty.  Are  all 
your  ideas  as  big  as  those  ?" 

"  They  are  not  small,"  she  admitted,  with  some 
reserve,  and  a  haughtiness  which  he  thought  very 
appropriate  to  her  pale  and  sternly-cut  little  features. 

"  You  are  one  of  Madame  Demarini's  daughters, 
are  you  not  ?"  he  then  asked,  following  out  his  own 
train  of  thought  rather  than  trying  to  sustain  the 
thread  of  their  conversation. 

She  looked  at  him  calmly.  "  Yes,  I  am  Ilva," 
she  replied.  "  Please  don't  mention  having  found 
me  up  here.  Nathalies  nurse  would  be  sure  to  think 


THE    WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  ig 

it  a  good  place  for  her  to  play  in.  Nathali  is  ray 
friend, — -or  used  to  be." 

"  You  like,  then,  to  be  alone?"  said  Nadrovine,  who 
was  still  standing.  He  chinked  some  bright  pebbles 
which  he  had  boyishly  transferred  from  the  beach  to 
his  pocket,  as  he  looked  down  at  her  gravely.  He 
thought  the  pale,  unchildish  face,  with  its  oriflamme 
of  vivid  hair,  singularly  interesting  and  attractive, 
"You  like  to  be  alone?  Is  that  it  ?"  he  repeated. 

"  Yes,  that  is  it,"  she  answered.  "  I  am  never 
alone  except  when  I  am  up  here.  No  one  ever 
comes  here  but  me,  the  steps  are  so  steep,  and  there 
is  always  so  much  wind.  It  is  not  cold,  though ;  il 
is  never  cold  here;  and  if  one  wants  to  write,  one  has 
only  to  make  paper-weights  of  bits  of  stone.  Thai 
statue's  three  fingers  and  heel  make  capital  ones,  and 
the  bench  is  delightful  for  a  table." 

"Ah,  you  write?"  said  Nadrovine,  amused,  bul 
not  allowing  any  sign  of  it  to  escape  him.  He  had 
known  several  little  girls  who  wrote,  and  he  was 
always  very  ready  indeed  to  read  their  manuscripts 
"  May  I  sit  there  by  you  ?"  he  said  now ;  "  and  wi! 
you  show  me  some  stories,  if  you  have  them  up  hen 
with  you  ?" 

The  swift  rush  of  color  to  her  pale  face  made  hei 
radiant  for  a  moment.  It  was  as  rosy  and  as  sudder 
a  transformation  as  that  in  a  pantomime.  Nadrovim 
saw  in  that  moment  that  she  would  probably  grow  uj; 
to  be  very  beautiful.  He  was  beginning  to  wonder 


15  THE    WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

what  she  would  read  to  him  from  her  little  blotted 
roll  of  manuscript.  They  were  always  blotted,  he 
remembered,  and  always  in  a  roll.  But,  lo  !  on  the 
bit  of  paper  she  slipped  into  his  hands  was  only  one 
sentence,  unblotted  and  heavily  legible:  "Married 
love  is  like  champagne  with  the  sparkles  out."  He 
read  it  once,  once  again,  and  then  looked  at  the  little 
authoress  somewhat  curiously. 

"  What  is  this,  doushka  ?"  he  asked.  "  The  title, 
or  a  sentiment  that  you  are  going  to  enlarge  upon  ? 
And  where  did  you  ever  get  hold  of  it  ?" 

Then  said  II va,  proudly, — 

"  It  is  mine.     It  is  not  a  title.     I  wrote  it." 

"Wrote  it?  Composed  it?"  echoed  Nadrovine, 
looking  as  astounded  as  her  expectation  had  pictured 
him.  Then,  with  a  sudden  change  of  tone,  "  How 
old  are  you,  little  one  ?" 

She  looked  at  him,  and  caught  back  another  wisp 
of  hair  which  the  wind  had  blown  loose  again.  "  I 
am  ten, — ten  one  week  ago,"  she  answered.  She  was 
very  anxious  to  know  what  he  would  say  next,  and 
moved  unconsciously  a  little  nearer  to  him  along  the 
old  marble  seat.  Then  this  celebrated  and  banished 
young  Russian  did  a  rather  strange  thing :  Ilva, 
thinking  of  it  afterwards,  wondered  how  she  could 
have  allowed  it.  He  put  a  gentle  and  at  the  same 
time  strong  arm  about  her  slender  shoulders  and 
drew  her  to  his  side,  still  holding  the  sheet  of  paper 
in  his  other  hand. 


THE    WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  17 

"  Doushka,"  he  said,  "  I  have  a  little  cousin  whom 
I  love  very  much.  She  is  just  a  year  older  than  you. 
She  too  wishes  to  write,  and  some  day  I  think  she 
will  do  so  to  her  heart's  content.  I  say  to  you  just 
what  I  would  say  to  her,  Tear  up  these  words,  and 
try  to  forget  them.  Also,  never  write  of  what  you 
cannot,  in  some  sort  at  least,  comprehend.  Softly, 
DOW.  Don't  be  angry  with  me.  Don't  pull  away. 
It  is  a  very  clever  sentence, — cleverer,  perhaps,  than 
you  have  any  idea  of.  It  might  have  been  written 
by  one  three  times  your  age.  Still,  it  is  an  unpleasant 
sort  of  sentence,  too.  Let  me  see.  How  can  I  best 
explain  to  you?  Well,  then,  for  instance,  suppose 
you  had  said,  '  Married  love  is  like  champagne,  un 
palatable  and  flat  when  one  allows  the  cork  of  sym 
pathy  to  become  shrivelled.'  That  isn't  perhaps  as 
clear,  but  it  is  more  hopeful.  If  you  ever  write, 
doushka, — and  I  trust  you  will, — pray,  above  all 
things,  let  your  books  be  hopeful.  Do  not  write  so 
that  when  one  reads  one  will  say,  l  Ah,  well,  in  all 
probability  I  too  will  be  dragged  down  into  just  such 
a  quagmire.  What  is  the  use  of  struggling  ?'  No, 
make  your  stories,  even  those  that  may  be  sad,  so 
full  of  hope  that  one,  having  read  them,  will  leap 
up,  saying,  '  JSTo  matter  if  things  are  sad,  there  is 
brightness  in  all.  I  see  no  reason  why  I  should  not 
try  to  be  happy  like  Carlo,  or  Bettina,'  or  one  of  the 
charming  people  you  are  sure  to  write  of.  There,  that 
is  a  neat  little  sermon,  and  you  furnished  the  text." 
b  2* 


18  THE    WITNESS   OF  THE  SUN. 

Ilva  knit  her  brows,  but  was  not  exactly  offended. 
"  I  do  not  quite  understand  why  you  do  not  like  my 
sentence,  but  I  hope  you  do  not  think  it  wicked.  I 
only  meant  it  to  be  true.  It  seems  to  me  it  is  like 
that.  I  will  do  as  you  say,  however :  I  will  tear 
it  up."  She  stripped  the  sheet  of  paper,  as  she 
spoke,  into  several  little  ribbons,  and  then  tore  these 
across  once  or  twice.  "  There,"  she  ended,  slipping 
them  into  his  hand  with  a  gesture  which  was  both 
impulsive  and  imperious.  "  Keep  it  to  remind  you 
that  I  promise  to  do  as  you  say." 

"  Indeed  I  will,"  said  the  young  Russian,  heartily. 
He  took  the  slender,  strong  little  hand  and  kissed  it 
lightly.  "You  are  to  write  only  what  is  brave  and 
hopeful,"  he  said,  as  if  speaking  to  the  long  fingers 
which  lay  upon  his  palm  ;  and  they  tightened  slightly 
in  answer. 

Then  he  stooped  and  lifted  a  book  from  the  sun 
burnt  grass.  '  He  had  at  first  thought  it  a  pretty 
box  of  some  sort,  for  its  cover  was  of  old  Dutch 
silver-work,  with  the  Demarini  crest  set  in  opals, — 
altogether  a  very  superb  and  inappropriate  volume 
to  share  the  siesta  of  a  little  girl  who  wore  a  rumpled 
brown  holland  frock  and  lay  on  her  back  in  the  sun 
shine  as  regard lessly  placid  as  the  lizard  that  basked 
near  by.  He  held  it  on. his  left  hand  and  opened  it. 
It  was  a  volume  of  Ariosto's  unabridged  poems. 

"And  have  you  read  this,  doushka?"  he  asked, 
beginning  to  feel  more  puzzled  and  amused  and  a 


THE  WITNESS   OF   THE  SUN.  19 

little  horrified.  She  leaned  over  and  gravely  turned 
one  or  two  leaves  with  an  air  of  proprietorship. 

"Is  it  not  lovely?"  she  said.  "Yes,  I  have  just 
begun  it  to-day.  I  was  trying  to  make  some  poetry 
myself  when  you  came." 

"And  could  you  not?"  said  Nadrovine,  still 
smiling  rather  dubiously. 

"  No ;  I  do  not  think  I  have  that  talent,"  she  re 
plied,  with  some  sadness.  "  The  rhymes  are  like  so 
many  gnats  buz-buz-buzzing,  when  I  only  want  to 
fix  my  ideas.  Do  you  ever  write  poetry,  signer  ?" 

Nadrovine  said  no,  that  he  did  not.  Suddenly  he 
put  out  his  hand  and  drew  her  down  beside  him 
again.  "No,  I  do  not  write  poetry,"  he  repeated. 
"  But  I  can  tell  charming  fairy-tales.  Do  you  care 
for  fairy-tales?" 

"  Oh  !  so  much  !"  exclaimed  Ilva. 

"Then,"  said  Nadrovine,  "I  will  tell  you  one. 
Here  it  is.  There  was  once  a  little  princess " 

"  Do  not  make  it  commonplace,"  interrupted  Ilva, 
with  one  of  her  frowns.  "I  wish  you  had  said  a 
little  peasant-girl;  all  fairy-tales  have  princesses. 
But  no  matter." 

Nadrovine  laughed,  showing  teeth  which  were 
splendidly  white  and  regular.  "  My  story  will  dis 
appoint  you,  I  fear,"  he  said,  in  reply  to  these  rapid 
interpellations ;  "  but,  since  my  heroine  was  a  princess 
at  first,  she  must  remain  one  now.  She  had  not  a 
very  commonplace  name,  at  all  events :  they  called 


20  THE  WITNESS   OF  THE  SUN. 

her  Liott.  She  also  had  the  most  uncomraonplace 
dwelling  conceivable,  for  she  lived  in  a  palace  of  ice, 
which  was  far  more  beautiful  than  anything  which 
you  or  I  ever  saw.  She  had  the  most  charming 
dresses  and  jewels,  and  every  toy  that  one  can  im 
agine,  but  her  chief  delight  was  in  her  gardens. 
There  grew  thousands  of  flowers,  from  great  red 
roses  like  these  overhead,  to  the  little  wrild  flowers 
that  all  children  love." 

"  Ah,  yes,  that  is  very  natural,"  put  in  the  Sig- 
norina  Demarini.  "  I  like  those  much  better  than 
any  others  myself." 

"  And  I,"  said  Nadrovine,  seriously.  "  One  day, 
then,  Princess  Liott  was  in  her  garden,  which  was 
separated  from  the  fields  beyond  by  a  high  hedge, 
and,  peeping  through  the  hedge,  she  saw  the  most 
gorgeous  blossoms  in  all  the  world.  She  had  never 
dreamed  of  such  beautiful  flowers,  not  even  when 
she  lay  awake  at  night  and  pressed  her  fingers  on 
her  eyelids  to  see  the  splendid  lilac  and  gold  and 
green  wreaths  that  grew  and  faded  and  paled  and 
sparkled  again." 

"  Yes,  are  they  not  beautiful  ?"  asked  Ilva,  be 
coming  absorbed  in  this  not  at  all  commonplace 
fairy-tale.  "  You  have  so  many  touches  of  nature  : 
that  is  what  makes  your  books  famous,  I  suppose." 

Nadrovine  went  on  without  replying : 

"  The  flowers  that  Princess  Liott  saw  were  much 
more  lovely,  and  she  would  have  squeezed  through 


WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  21 

the  hedge  after  them,  had  not  the  governess  caught 
her  arm.  'My  princess/  said  she,  'do  not  touch 
those  flowers :  they  are  poisonous,  in  spite  of  their 
beautiful  colors,  and  will  forever  stain  your  little 
white  hands/  But  the  princess  was  haughty  and 
would  not  be  controlled.  She  broke  from  her  gov 
erness  into  the  lovely  field,  and  gathered  the  jewel- 
like  blossoms  right  and  left,  until  she  was  tired  with 
stooping ;  then  she  ran  back  in  triumph  to  show  her 
governess  how  silly  her  warning  had  been ;  but  later, 
when  her  governess  took  the  great  nosegay  from 
Liott's  hands,  they  were  all  seamed  and  blackened, 
as  though  they  had  been  burned,  and  not  only  that, 
but  the  fumes  had  risen  from  the  red  and  yellow 
bells  and  had  blackened  poor  Princess  Liott's  fair 
skin  and  dimmed  her  lovely  eyes." 

"  Was  she  never  pretty  again  ?"  said  II va,  slowly. 

"  She  was  never  quite  -white  again,"  said  Nadro- 
vine;  "and  she  always  sat  with  her  hands  folded 
palms  downward  in  her  lap :  so  I  suppose  the  ugly 
stains  and  seams  never  went  quite  away." 

"That  is  a  very  sad  story,"  said  Ilva,  still 
slowly. 

"Doushka,"  said  Nadrovine,  "books  are  some 
times  more  poisonous  than  flowers.  You  see,  my 
story  is  commonplace  after  all :  it  has  a  moral." 

She  kept  her  bright,  direct  glance  on  him,  still 
turning  slowly  the  leaves  of  the  book  which  rested 
on  his  knee. 


22  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

"  Is  this  a  bad  book  ?"  she  said,  at  last,  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  It  is  not  good  for  you  to  read,  little  one." 

She  suddenly  lifted  it  from  his  knee.  He  thought 
she  was  going  to  walk  proudly  off  with  her  rightful 
property,  but  instead  she  turned  with  a  beautiful, 
impulsive  straightening  of  both  arms  towards  him. 

u  Take  it,"  she  said.  "  I  give  it  to  you.  Keep 
it,  and  remember  that  I  have  promised  you." 

Nadrovine  was  silent  a  moment,  and  then  drew 
the  child  to  him. 

"  This  is  far  too  valuable  a  book  for  you  to  give 
away  unpermitted,"  he  said,  gently;  "but  your 
promise,  which  is  many  times  more  valuable,  I  take 
and  keep." 

She  frowned  a  little,  and  the  gold  lights  grew  in 
her  dark  eyes. 

"  I  bid  you  take  it,"  she  said.  "  It  is  mine  :  no 
one  else  has  a  right  to  it :  my  grandmother  left  it  to 
me  in  her  will  when  I  was — oh  !  a  mere  speck — a 
baby.  Here ;  that  is  my  name.  You  see  ?  Take  it." 

Nadrovine  was  extremely  touched. 

"Doushka,"  he  said,  and  as  he  spoke  he  put  a 
shapely  brown  hand  on  her  blowing  hair,  "  I  cannot 
take  your  beautiful  book  for  my  very  own,  but  I 
will  keep  it  gladly  until  you  wish  for  it  again." 

She  said  nothing  in  answer,  and,  stooping  towards 
her,  he  saw  that  her  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

"  You  are  very  good  to  mo,"  she  said,  in  a  stifled 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  23 

voice.  "You  seem  to  care.  Why  do  you?  No 
one  else  does.  I  might  read  every  book  in  the  house 
if  I  chose.  Nathali  is  watched  over  and  cared  for. 
She  is  so  beautiful.  Have  you  seen  her  ?  But  I — 
I  am  ugly !" 

And  she  turned  and  rushed  away  from  him  down 
the  rough,  irregular  steps,  sobbing  as  she  went,  and 
leaving  a  very  perplexed  and  astounded  young  Rus 
sian  novelist  behind  her. 

She  did  not  see  him  again  until  she  was  seventeen. 

III. 

This  little  episode  with  Nad ro vine  had  a  distinct 
effect  upon  the  girl's  character.  There  were  many 
things  every  day  that  she  denied  herself,  in  thinking 
that  he  would  not  have  approved  them.  She  seemed 
to  herself  to  have  become  the  Princess  Liott  of  his 
little  allegory,  and  was  very  bent  on  keeping  her 
hands  clean  at  least,  since  they  could  not  be  small 
and  white  like  Nathalies.  She  no  longer  drove  the 
dusty  toads  from  under  the  big  aloes,  into  the  little 
pool  on  the  east  terrace.  She  tried  not  to  say  inso 
lent  things  to  the  very  exasperating  Herbert.  She 
bore  like  a  Stoic  such  lies  as  Nathali  saw  fit  to  tell 
'of  her  from  time  to  time,  and  she  abandoned  her 
alterations  in  the  profiles  of  the  Roman  emperors,  in 
order  that  she  might  give  her  undivided  attention  to 
the  reproduction  of  Nadro vine's  sharply-cut  features. 
He  became  to  her  a  sort  of  embodied  conscience,  and 


24  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

she  fell  into  one  of  those  pure  and  romantic  idola 
tries  of  which  only  an  innocent  girl  is  capable.  She 
heard  of  him  very  often.  Sometimes  her  father  and 
mother  would  discuss  his  career  and  personality. 
Sometimes  the  guests  at  the  villa  would  do  so. 
Sometimes  she  would  herself  see  articles  in  the  dif 
ferent  papers  concerning  him.  He  was  founder  of 
a  new  school,  they  said,  one  which  did  not  pluck 
the  wings  from  ideals  and  leave  them  to  crawl,  but 
which  pointed  out  a  possible  butterfly  in  every  ugly, 
realistic  grub  which  nibbled  the  flowers  of  rhetoric. 
The  child  carefully  cut  out  such  articles  and  put 
them  away  in  a  little  enamelled  box  which  had  once 
held  bon-bons.  This  box  had  a  lock  and  key,  and 
she  wore  the  key  about  her  throat  on  a  bit  of  ribbon. 
As  his  profile  dominated  all  her  sketches,  so  what 
she  fancied  to  be  his  character  was  given  to  every 
hero  in  her  fantastic  stories.  As  the  years  went  by, 
however,  his  wraith  became  paler  and  more  trans 
parent,  until,  instead  of  coloring  circumstances,  as  it 
were,  the  vivid  hues  of  surrounding  facts  became 
more  and  more  apparent  through  its  dwindling  mist. 
When  Ilva  was  seventeen,  she  told  herself  that  she 
had  been  ridiculously  sentimental,  and  that  this  Na- 
drovine  whom  she  had  adored  so  long  would  be  the 
first  to  smile  at  her  for  a  romantic  little  school-girl. 
She  still  kept  the  newspaper  cuttings  which  spoke  of 
him,  however,  but  she  took  the  key  from  about  her 
neck  and  put  it  in  her  writing-desk. 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  25 

She  often  thought  of  the  hour  when  she  and  Na- 
drovine  would  meet  again,  and  whether  he  had  kept 
the  silver  book,  as  he  had  promised,  all  these  years. 
She  wondered,  in  fact,  if  he  remembered  her. 

One  day  the  countess  said,  as  they  sat  together  on 
the  terrace  late  in  the  afternoon, — 

"By  the  way,  Ilva,  Nadrovine,  the  great  writer, 
comes  here  this  evening  to  dine.  Your  father  brings 
him.  It  is  only  a  family  dinner;  and,  as  there  is 
such  an  awkward  number,  I  am  going  to  permit  you 
to  dine  with  us." 

"  I  shall  like  it  very  much.  You  are  very  kind, 
mamma,"  said  the  girl.  Her  heart  beat  a  good  deal, 
and  she  felt  that  the  color  had  risen  to  her  cheeks. 
It  was  so  strange  to  think  that  she  was  to  see  him 
after  all  these  years,  and  so  very  pleasant  to  think 
how  different  he  would  find  her,  in  appearance  at 
least,  from  what  she  had  been  at  their  last  interview. 

She  was  very  careful  with  her  toilet  that  evening, 
plaiting  and  replaiting,  herself,  the  luxurious  swaths 
of  her  hair,  until  they  were  as  lustrous  as  so  many 
twisted  flames,  pinning  the  knot  of  tea-roses  which 
she  was  to  wear  in  five  different  places  on  her  cor 
sage,  and  stopping  at  the  last  moment  while  her 
maid  sewed  new  rosettes  on  a  pair  of  bronze  shoes 
which  she  particularly  fancied. 

"  Ah,"  said  Nadrovine  to  himself,  when  she  entered 
the  room,  "  she  is  as  lovely  as  I  thought  she  would 
be." 

B  3 


26  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

Her  childishly  simple  gown  of  white  gauze  was 
cut  squarely  from  her  long  and  supple  throat,  and 
fawn-colored  gloves  came  up  nearly  to  the  puffed 
sleeves  which  surmounted  her  graceful  shoulders 
like  some  airy  order  of  epaulets.  There  was  a 
gold-colored  ribbon  about  her  waist,  and  a  knot  of 
it  among  the  lace  at  her  breast.  The  tea-roses 
were  mingled  with  the  lace  and  ribbon. 

As  for  Nadrovine,  he  had  not  changed  in  the  least. 
He  was  now  twenty-nine,  but  his  light-brown  curls 
were  as  free  from  any  tinge  of  gray  as  they  had  been 
seven  years  ago,  and  he  carried  himself  with  as  virile 
a  grace.  When  he  smiled  on  speaking  to  her  for  the 
first  time,  she  saw  that  his  teeth  were  as  brilliantly 
regular  as  ever  and  his  mouth  as  handsome.  He  had 
the  thin  curled  lips  which,  when  not  cruel,  are  so 
beautiful.  Ilva  thought  of  numberless  things  which 
she  would  like  to  say  to  him.  She  wondered,  should 
they  chance  to  be  thrown  together  for  a  few  moments, 
what  he  would  first  say  to  her.  After  dinner  they 
went  out  on  the  terrace  and  had  cigarettes  and  coffee 
and  liqueurs.  There  was  much  soft  moonlight 
through  a  silver  fleece  of  clouds.  It  made  trans 
parent  the  tender  leaves  of  a  young  grape-vine 
near  which  the  girl  sat,  and  threw  delicate  moving 
shadows  over  her  white  gown  and  arms.  She  had 
wound  some  thin  white  stuff  about  her  head  and 
shoulders,  and  the  golden  ribbons  at  her  waist  and 
bosom  reminded  him  of  stray  sunbeams.  Some  peo- 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  27 

pie  bad  just  called  informally,  and  he  came  and  sat 
dowii'  in  a  great  bamboo  chair  near  her,  while  they 
were  making  their  greetings. 

"  You  have  never  asked  for  the  silver  book,"  was 
what  he  said  to  her;  and  she  replied,  not  lightly  as 
she  had  meant  to,  but  very  seriously, — 

"  And  I  never  will." 

"  What !  you  will  never  read  Ariosto  ?"  said 
Nadrovine,  smiling.  "  I  find  him  a  charming  poet." 

This  was  not  quite  what  Ilva  had  expected.  She 
returned  his  smile  with  a  rather  haughty  look. 

"I  dare  say  I  should  find  him  charming  also," 
she  replied,  after  perhaps  a  second's  pause.  "  It  is 
merely  a  whim." 

"  So,  then,  you  have  whims,  like  any  other  mortal, 
signorina?"  said  Nadrovine,  still  smiling.  "I  fan 
cied  that  you  were  going  to  develop  into  a  start- 
lingly  original  young  lady,  from  the  glimpse  I  had 
of  your  childhood.  I  have  whims  myself.  They 
are  very  disagreeable.  Take  my  advice,  and  give 
them  to  me  to  keep  with  the  silver  book." 

Ilva  thought  him  impertinent.  She  was  bitterly 
disappointed.  Her  pretty,  childish  breast  swelled 
angrily  under  its  knot  of  gold  ribbons.  Is  any 
thing 'so  annoying  to  a  young  girl  as  to  be  taken 
for  exactly  the  age  that  she  is?  She  was  just  seven 
teen,  and  he  treated  her  as  he  would  have  done  any 
other  little  girl  of  seventeen.  She  began  to  dislike 
him.  She  began  to  find  disagreeable  the  lines  of 


28  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

that  sharp-cut  profile  which  she  had  so  often  drawn 
on  slate  and  paper  and  even  on  the  stiff  hem  of  her 
white  petticoats.  He  was  apparently  absorbed  in 
his  own  thoughts  during  the  silence  which  followed. 
He  leaned  his  head  back  against  the  olive-wood 
trellis  that  supported  the  grape-vine,  and  allowed 
the  smoke  of  his  cigarette  to  escape  through  his 
handsome  nostrils.  He  was,  in  fact,  thinking  of 
her, — gentle  and  tender  thoughts,  such  as  some  men 
will  give  young  girls  into  whose  pure  minds  they 
see  as  through  a  crystal  opening.  He  thought  her 
renunciation  of  Ariosto  as  lovely  as  it  was  childish, 
and,  seeing  that  she  was  offended,  regretted  having 
teased  her.  He  turned  suddenly  and  threw  away 
his  cigarette. 

"  Doushka,"  he  said,— how  well  she  remembered 
the  tone  of  his  voice  as  he  pronounced  the  odd  little 
Russian  word ! — "  see,  do  not  be  angry  with  me.  It 
was  only  in  jest  that  I  spoke.  It  is  very  good  and 
lovely  of  you  to  have  kept  your  promise  all  these 
years.  I  am  going  to  ask  you  to  let  me  send  you 
back  your  silver  book  with  marks  at  those  passages 
which  I  think  you  would  enjoy.  Will  you  ?" 

The  feeling  of  personal  dislike  for  him  melted 
away  with  these  words,  but  the  annoyance  at  being 
addressed  as  though  she  were  a  child  increased,  if 
possible. 

"  You  are  very  good,"  she  said,  a  trifle  stiffly. 

"Ah,  you  said  that  to  me  once  before,"  replied 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  29 

Nadrovine,  with  the  smile  which  she  was  beginning 
to  watch  for,  "but  so  differently.  There  were  tears 
in  your  voice  as  well  as  in  your  eyes  then.  What 
a  strange  little  creature  you  were !"  he  went  on, 
speaking  more  to  himself  than  to  her.  "I  have 
often  regretted  that  I  did  not  see  more  of  you  as  a 
child." 

"Perhaps  you  would  have  had  more  regrets  the 
more  you  saw  of  me,"  said  the  girl,  slowly.  "  I  be 
lieve  that  I  was  a  very  disagreeable  child." 

Nadrovine  made  a  light  gesture  of  dissent.  "  Oh, 
we  should  have  understood  each  other,"  he  said, 
easily. 

"Do  you  think  so?"  asked  Ilva.  She  held  a 
little  fan  of  amber  with  gold  ribbons  between  her 
eyes  and  the  moonlit  glare  of  the  sea.  He  thought 
that  the  moonlight  shining  through  it  reproduced  the 
tint  of  her  hair  exactly.  She  could  not  make  out  his 
expression,  for  the  background  of  sparkling  water. 
Nadrovine  caught  the  nettled  tone  in  her  voice. 

"  Why  ?     Do  you  think  so  ?"  he  said,  gently. 

"Oh!  I?  How  can  I  tell?"  she  answered,  ar 
ranging  her  roses.  "It  is  your  gift  to  guess  at 
situations.  You  are  famous  for  it.  If  you  say  so, 
yes,  I  suppose  we  should  have  understood  each  other, 
— yes,  assuredly." 

"  You  mean  that  we  do  not  understand  each  other 
now,"  said  Nadrovine.  She  replied  by  another  ques 
tion. 

3* 


30  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

"  Do  you  think  we  do  ?"  she  said ;  but,  before  he 
could  answer,  the  countess  approached  with  some 
guests  who  wished  to  meet  Nadrovine,  and  Ilva 
spoke  no  more  alone  with  him  that  evening. 

She  went  to  her  room  feeling  a  good  deal  as 
though  she  had  lifted  a  charming  flower  to  her  face 
and  the  bee  within  had  stung  her.  She  had  thought 
so  often  of  this  meeting,  had  listened  so  many  times 
to  the  earnest,  beautiful  things  he  would  probably 
say  to  her.  She  had  even  committed  one  of  her 
prettiest  poems  to  memory  in  order  that  she  might 
repeat  it  to  him  when  he  inquired  about  her  writings. 
She  remembered  with  a  fresh  feeling  of  irritated  dis 
appointment  that  he  had  not  asked  so  much  as  one 
question  concerning  them.  Altogether,  it  had  been  a 
very  flat  and  uneventful  conversation.  He  had  only 
said  what  any  other  man  might  have  said  under  the 
circumstances,  and  she,  on  her  side,  had  only  been 
rather  rude,  she  was  afraid. 

Nathali  Zanova  came  over  the  next  morning  full 
of  the  celebrated  Russian's  advent  in  the  neighbor 
hood. 

"And  you  actually  sat  at  the  same  table  with 
him  !"  said  she.  "  Dio  mio !  that  I  had  been  in 
spired  to  ask  myself  to  dine  yesterday  !  What  did 
he  talk  of?  They  say  he  is  as  beautiful  as  a  Greek 
god.  Is  he?" 

"Some  Greek  gods  are  very  ugly;  don't  you 
think  so?"  said  Ilva,  chillily.  "There  is  one  in  the 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  31 

Vatican  with  a  broken  nose  who  is  quite  hideous. 
Signor  Nadrovine  is  not  at  all  like  him.  I  don't 
think  he  is  like  any  of  them." 

"  Ebbene,  I  should  have  said  like  one's  dream  of 
a  Greek  god,"  cried  Nathali.  "You  dear,  literal 
girl !"  She  took  Ilva  about  the  waist  and  attempted 
to  kiss  her. 

"Please  do  not,  Nathali,"  said  the  girl.  "You 
know  I  do  not  like  to  be  kissed." 

"Yes,  by  me,"  said  Nathali,  good-humoredly ; 
"and  yet  I  have  very  pretty  lips.  Ebbene,  wait 
until  you  have  a  lover." 

"  I  shall  never  kiss  any  man  but  my  husband," 
Ilva  replied,  with  loftiness. 

"  Oh-h  !  so  there  is  going  to  be  a  husband,  then, 
after  all,"  said  Signorina  Zanova,  smiling  her  large- 
toothed  but  still  pretty  smile.  "  A  month  ago  you 
were  never  going  to  marry." 

"  One  can  never  tell,"  answered  Ilva,  calmly,  not 
withstanding,  however,  she  blushed  rather  warmly. 
Nathali  was  almost  as  exasperating  on  occasions  as 
the  good  Herbert.  She  was  a  very  large-limbed 
woman,  not  so  tall  as  Ilva,  with  a  pale,  well-cut, 
rather  voluptuous  mouth,  which  was  generally  open 
in  a  perpetual  air  of  wonder,  eyes  which  were  too 
wide  apart,  and  coarse,  beautifully  brown  hair,  cut 
abundantly  above  her  thick  eyebrows.  Her  figure, 
although  well  shaped,  was  too  compact  to  be  graceful. 
One  always  felt  that  it  must  be  with  a  sense  of  duty 


32  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

accomplished  that  the  Signorina  Zanova  unbuttoned 
her  corsage  at  night.  She  was  a  woman  who  became 
herself  extremely,  if  one  may  be  allowed  a  certain 
liberty  of  expression, — that  is,  her  mind  harmonized 
entirely  with  her  physique.  Had  she  been  allowed 
to  select  a  body  to  contain  her  soul,  one  felt  quite 
certain  that  her  present  shape  would  have  been  her 
choice.  Her  big  limbs  ended  in  the  tiny  hands  and 
feet  which  are  the  ideal  of  beauty  with  so  many 
women  and  which  men  generally  fail  to  admire. 
As  a  little  girl,  Nathali  had  possessed  the  arms  of 
a  well-stuffed  chair  and  the  legs  of  a  piano.  As  a 
young  lady,  voluminous  sleeves  and  draperies  only 
permitted  one  to  observe  hands  which  corresponded 
to  the  little  tassels  which  usually  finish  off  chair- 
arms  and  feet  not  much  larger  than  the  casters  in 
which  piano-legs  always  terminate.  She  was  nine 
teen,  and  had  been  in  society  for  a  year,  and  was 
always  consciously  or  unconsciously  reminding  II va 
of  her  less  fortunate  position.  She  would  rush  over 
to  the  Villa  Demarini,  on  the  day  after  a  ball,  with 
handfuls  of  gay  ribbons  which  she  had  received  in 
the  cotillon  and  which  she  ostensibly  brought  for  the 
collars  of  Ilva's  dogs.  Ilva,  for  her  part,  was  quite 
sure  that  Nathali  really  brought  them  to  show  what 
a  success  she  had  had  at  the  ball.  Nathalies  purse 
was  as  well  filled  as  her  bodice,  which  may  perhaps 
somewhat  account  for  the  brilliancy  of  her  social 
career,  and  she  had  an  American  friend,  a  woman 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  33 

even  larger  and  more  exuberant  of  limb  than  her 
self,  who  taught  her  to  emulate  the  little  Joseph  in 
apparel  and  to  use  American  slang.  This  being 
sometimes  translated  into  Italian  was  a  very  astound 
ing  thing  to  hear. 

The  difference  in  the  feelings  of  the  two  girls  for 
each  other  may  perhaps  be  concisely  explained  by 
saying  that  the  ways  of  Ilva  wearied  Nathali,  while 
Nathali  herself  wearied  Ilva.  She  would  often  escape, 
when  she  saw  the  Zanova  coupe  approaching,  and  run 
far  out  into  the  great  orange-gardens  that  flanked  the 
house.  Sometimes  it  would  be  her  fate  to  be  inter 
cepted  in  her  flight.  To-day  was  one  of  those  days ; 
and,  to  complete  matters,  Nathali  insisted  upon  talk 
ing  of  Nadrovine. 

"  My  dearest  child,"  she  now  proceeded  to  remark, 
"  do  you  know  they  say  that,  although  he  is  so  dis 
tinguished,  he  is  a  perfect  Don  Juan  ?" 

"  I  forbid  you  to  say  any  more,"  interrupted  Ilva, 
in  a  tensely  quiet  voice.  Her  eyes  had  those  golden 
lights  which  flash  in  the  eyes  of  some  angry  dogs, 
and  which  with  her  always  meant  violent  emotion  of 
some  sort.  She  went  and  threw  wide  the  Venetian 
blinds  of  one  of  her  windows.  "  Is  it  that  Mees 
Sherlow  who  has  taught  you  such  conversation?" 
she  continued,  leaning  against  the  window,  and  not 
regarding  Nathali,  whose  mouth  was  more  open  than 
usual.  "  If  it  is  so,  do  not  think  that  I  will  listen 
to  it.  Such  talk  is  abominable,  disgusting,  odious 


34  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

to  me.  You  used  not  to  say  such  things,  Nathali. 
It  is  like  the  fairy-tale  where  the  toads  fell  out  of 
the  girl's  mouth.  You  might  as  well  come  and 
pour  a  handful  of  mud  into  my  lap :  I  would  thank 
you  quite  as  much." 

Nathali  turned  quite  pale. 

"  You  are  horridly  rude,"  she  said.  She  took  off 
her  heavy  rings  and  tossed  them  in  her  two  hands 
with  an  attempt  at  carelessness.  "  There  is  nothing 
so  odious  as  a  prude,"  she  remarked,  after  a  while. 

"  Except  a  woman  who  repeats  unclean  stories  and 
anecdotes,"  replied  Ilva,  coolly. 

"  I  do  not  repeat  unclean  anecdotes,"  said  Nathali, 
sullenly.  She  rose  and  put  on  her  rings  again,  and 
took  up  her  sunshade,  which  bristled  with  orange- 
and  cherry-colored  ribbons.  "  It  is  nothing  to  say 
that  a  man  is  a  Don  Juan.  All  men  sow  their  wild 
oats  nowadays.  If  Nadrovine  were  not  a " 

"  Do  not  dare  to  say  it  again !"  cried  Ilva,  spring 
ing  to  her  feet.  She  seized  the  back  of  a  chair 
which  stood  between  them  and  held  it  tightly  with 
both  hands.  "If  I  am  rude,"  she  said,  looking 
steadily  at  her  friend,  "  it  is  you  who  make  me 
so." 

"  Oh,  it  is  not  of  the  slightest  consequence,"  said 
Signorina  Zanova,  who  was  now  scarlet  as  the  bows 
on  her  sunshade,  with  unmitigated  rage.  "  If  I  had 
known  you  were  already  enamoured  of  the  man,  I 
would  have  said  nothing  to  you.  Addio,  cara  mia  ; 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  35 

a  better  temper  to  you  soon,  and  a  sunny  wedding- 
day." 

She  flourished  her  parasol  with  the  air  of  one  who 
offers  the  last  insult  to  an  already  infuriated  foe,  and 
left  the  room. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Nadrovine  was  not  in  the 
least  a  Don  Juan.  It  was  no  especial  question  of 
morality  with  him,  however.  He  was  a  rather  cold, 
excessively  refined  man,  who  found  no  amusement 
in  liaisons  of  any  kind.  He  would  have  been  equally 
amused  and  touched  by  Ilva's  warm  defence  of  him. 
Of  this  young  girl  he  was  especially  fond.  Such 
natures  are  more  capable  of  comprehending  and  re 
turning  the  affection  of  children  than  those  which 
are  more  sensual ;  and  Ilva  was  in  truth  a  child  as 
yet.  She  sat  down,  after  Signorina  Zanova  had  de 
parted,  at  the  window  wrhich  she  had  opened,  and 
began  to  go  over  the  years  since  the  day  upon  which 
she  had  first  met  Nadrovine.  She  had  not  realized 
until  a  few  moments  ago  how  much  he  had  again 
become  to  her,  in  spite  of  their  uncongenial  conver 
sation. 

She  thrust  back  angrily  the  idea  which  Nathali 
had  forced  upon  her.  It  gave  her  the  same  feeling 
that  possessed  her  when  she  found  that  her  maid  had 
tossed  a  nosegay  into  the  slop-bowl.  It  was  a  very 
blossom-like  sentiment  which  she  had  always  cher 
ished  for  Nadrovine,  and  she  felt  as  though  her 
friend  had  dropped  it  into  a  figurative  slop-bowl. 


36  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

IV. 

It  was  only  three  days  afterwards  that  Ilva  saw 
Nadrovine  again.  The  countess  had  driven  into  the 
village  early  in  the  afternoon  to  do  some  shopping, 
and  the  good  Herbert  was  indulging  in  her  usual 
four-o'clock  siesta,  shut  into  her  own  room.  The 
house  was  very  dark  and  cool  and  empty,  and  the 
day  outside  very  vivid  and  hot  and  crowded  with 
sweet  sights  and  noises  and  perfumes, — the  sounds  of 
birds  and  of  the  sea,  the  voices  of  children  wrangling 
good-humoredly,  the  fragrance  of  sunburnt  fruit.  On 
the  eastern  terrace  the  grass  was  blue  with  fallen  figs, 
and  the  orioles  made  golden  flashes  among  the 
pomegranates  in  the  tree  just  outside  the  girl's  win 
dow.  She  could  see  the  clustering  blossoms  among 
the  roots  of  the  orange-trees,  and  the  twinkle  of  the 
sunlight  on  the  wings  of  the  bees  humming  over 
them.  All  about  and  above  and  beneath  her  were 
brilliant  winged  things,  that  dipped  and  glanced  and 
alighted  and  took  flight  again,  and  there  were  some 
variegated  butterflies  that  looked  like  living  jewels. 
The  day  seemed  holding  out  its  arms  to  her.  She 
took  a  big  white  sunshade  whose  rose-colored  lining 
appeared  to  blush  for  its  unfashionable  proportions, 
and,  lifting  a  book  at  random,  went  out  into  the 
fragrant,  vibrating  glare,  under  the  pomegranate- 
tree,  over  the  fig-strewn  grass,  up  the  rough  stone 
steps  that  led  to  the  ruined  temple  on  the  olive- 


THE  WITNESS  OF   THE  SUN.  37 

crowned  hill-top,  and  so  into  the  temple  itself.  She 
threw  herself  on  the  sun-bkached  grass  and  lay  down 
upon  it,  leaning  her  head,  with  its  cushion  of  burn 
ished  hair,  against  the  old  marble  seat. 

Everything  gleamed  tremulously  through  the 
rising  heat.  The  tall  wild  flowers  and  weeds 
seemed  shuddering  against  the  violent  blue  of  the 
sky  beyond.  One  of  the  slender  Corinthian  columns 
which  had  remained  standing,  had  wavy  outlines,  as 
of  a  white,  ever-ascending  flame.  The  vast  grass- 
fields  below  rippled  like  another  sea.  So  intensely 
still  was  it,  save  for  the  sounds  of  leaf  and  bird  and 
waves,  that  she  could  hear  distinctly  the  soft  drop 
ping  of  the  ripe  figs  upon  the  thick  turf  and  a  bird 
whetting  its  beak  on  a  fallen  marble  capital  near  by. 
She  was  very  warm,  and  yet  a  purring  wind  crept 
over  her  every  now  and  then  and  kept  the  heat  from 
growing  oppressive.  She  had  a  great  flare  of  fire- 
colored  azaleas  at  her  belt,  and  an  intoxicated  sleepy 
bee  had  fallen  into  one  of  the  gorgeous  chalices  and 
droned  and  struggled  intermittently  with  a  palpable 
affectation  of  energy.  One  of  the  orioles,  which 
were  yet  very  tame,  poised  on  delicate,  whirring 
wings  and  tore  at  the  red  petals  mischievously. 

She  did  not  even  open  the  book  that  she  had 
brought  with  her,  and  she  had  been  thinking  of  Na- 
drovine  for  some  moments,  when  he  spoke  to  her. 
He  had  been  watching  her  just  as  he  had  done 
seven  years  ago,  and,  as  he  had  also  done  on  that 
4 


38  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

occasion,  had  mistaken  her  shut-eyed  quiet  for  sleep. 
She  rose  to  her  feet  with  a  supple,  unhurried  grace 
which  did  not  escape  him,  and  put  up  her  hand  to 
her  hair, — the  instinctive  gesture  of  a  woman  whose 
hair-pins  are  forsaking  her. 

"I  wish  you  had  been  soliloquizing  this  time 
also,"  he  said,  with  a  smile,  as  he  stooped  to  lift 
her  shawl  and  book  from  the  grass ;  and  then  Ilva 
was  very  glad  that  her  umbrella  was  lined  with 
pink,  for  she  felt  herself  redden  a  little. 

"  And  I  am  thankful  that  I  was  not,"  she  answered, 
candidly.  "  I  am  not  much  wiser  than  I  was  seven 
years  ago,  and  I  might  have  uttered  just  some  such 
nonsense." 

"  I  assured  you  then  that  I  did  not  think  it  non 
sense,"  said  Nadrovine,  gravely.  "  I  do  not  think 
so  now ;  and  I  remember  it  perfectly,  word  for  word. 
You  were  wondering  how  it  would  feel  if  one  were 
a  giantess  and  had  a  giant  lover  to  whom  one  could 
say " 

"  Pray  don't  repeat  it,"  exclaimed  Ilva,  with  an 
imperious  gesture. 

"  But  if  I  think  it  charming  ?"  said  Nadrovine. 

"  That  is  impossible,"  she  said,  smiling  all  at  once. 
She  had  one  of  those  full,  lissome  mouths  which 
adapt  themselves  exquisitely  to  a  smile.  Her  whole 
face  changed  with  it  as  water  under  a  float  of  sun 
light.  The  contour  became  more  childish,  and  yet 
somehow  her  expression  was  more  that  of  a  woman. 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  39 

She  sat  down  suddenly  on  the  marble  seat  and  drew 
aside  her  white  skirt  to  make  room  for  him. 

"Let  us  talk,"  she  said,  impulsively.  "I  have 
some  things  to  say  to  you." 

"  It  would  take  many  hours  to  say  all  that  I  wish 
to  say  to  you,"  replied  Nadrovine,  seriously.  "  In 
the  first  place,  do  you  still  write  ?" 

He  had  taken  his  place  by  her,  sitting  sidewise, 
with  one  elbow  resting  on  the  back  of  the  bench 
and  his  hand  supporting  his  uncovered  head.  With 
the  other  hand  he  clinked  some  pebbles  together,  as 
she  remembered  him  to  have  done  during  that 
memorable  interview.  He  had  thrown  his  hat  on 
the  ground,  but  it  had  left  a  red  mark  across  his 
forehead.  His  hair  clung  damply  to  his  temples. 
Signorina  Zanova's  remark  about  the  Greek  god  came 
back  to  her.  It  was  the  face  of  a  Greek,  certainly. 
Ilva  had  a  cynical  disbelief  in  deities.  She  liked  to 
look  at  him,  but,  being  afraid  of  seeming  to  stare, 
turned  her  eyes  presently  to  the  azaleas  in  her  belt. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  write,  sometimes,"  she  said,  rather 
vaguely. 

"  Only  sometimes  ?"  asked  Nadrovine.  "  Some 
times  is  the  arch-enemy  of  success ;  and  I  remember 
you  very  ambitious." 

She  lifted  her  eyes  again  to  his  face,  and  his  met 
them. 

"  Perhaps  I  am  ambitious  now,"  she  said,  with  a 
half  smile. 


40  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

"I  am  rather  inclined  to  think  it  is  not  'per 
haps/  "  replied  Nadrovine.  He  was  reflecting  upon 
the  loveliness  of  that  direct,  gentle  gaze.  Most  of 
the  young  girls  of  his  acquaintance  dropped  their 
eyes  with  a  puppet-like  certainty  under  an  at  all 
prolonged  look,  while  others  returned  such  glances 
too  boldly. 

She  charmed  him  very  much.  He  was  almost 
afraid  to  allow  the  conversation  to  take  a  serious 
tone,  for  fear  she  would  disappoint  him.  She  was 
looking  away  again  now.  A  little  white  butterfly 
had  alighted  on  the  laces  above  her  breast,  and  rose 
and  fell  with  her  soft  breathing,  as  daintily  as  a  bird 
upon  a  wave. 

"  If  you  have  a  sweetheart,  signorina,  be  sure  that 
he  is  thinking  of  you,"  said  Nadrovine,  suddenly. 

She  turned  her  eyes  from  the  sea  to  him  with  a 
rather  startled  look. 

"  Why  do  you  say  that  ?".  she  asked. 

"  Because  a  white  butterfly  has  alighted  upon  your 
dress.  It  is  a  sure  sign." 

She  glanced  down,  and  saw  the  pretty  thing  open 
ing  and  shutting  its  silvery  wings  with  all  the 
coquetry  of  a  conscious  beauty  manipulating  her 
fan.  She  breathed  more  gently  than  ever,  in  order 
not  to  disturb  it. 

"  Is  that  a  Russian  superstition  ?"  she  said,  after  a 
moment. 

"  I  really  do  not  know,"  Nadrovine  replied.    "  But 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  41 

I  seem  to  have  heard  it  all  my  life, — and  the  one 
about  a  bird  flying  into  a  room." 

"What  is  that ?"  said  Ilva. 

"  They  say  that  it  is  a  forewarning  of  death  or  of 
a  great  sorrow.  Myself,  I  am  .  not  superstitious. 
One  night  in  Russia  I  heard  a  tapping  at  my  window, 
and,  like  the  melancholy  young  man  in  Poe's  romance, 
opened  it.  There  was  nothing  so  startling  as  a  raven 
outside,  however, — only  a  little  brown  bird  who  had- 
been  attracted  by  the  light.  I  let  him  in,  and,  after 
flying  distractedly  about,  he  made  himself  quite  com 
fortable  on  the  back  of  a  tall  chair.  Then  three 
more  rapped  and  gained  admittance,  and  all  four 
spent  the  night  with  me.  In  the  morning  I  fed  them 
and  set  them  free.  But  they  seemed  only  to  bring 
me  good  luck.  I  got  many  things  that  I  wanted 
soon  afterwards." 

"A  nightingale  flew  into  my  room  once,"  said 
Ilva.  "He  was  so  frightened,  though,  poor  little 
soul,  that  he  killed  himself  by  beating  his  head 
against  the  wall.  It  made  me  very  sad  at  first; 
but  I  reflected  that  he  might  have  been  put  into 
pasta  by  some  peasant,  and  so  was  somewhat  com 
forted." 

"You  call  him  poor  little  soul,"  Nadrovine  ob 
served,  smiling.  "  I  see  that  we  share  a  belief." 

"  Oh,  there  must  be  birds  in  heaven !"  the  girl  ex 
claimed,  quickly. 

"  And  why  not  ?"  said  Nadrovine.  "  One  knows 
4* 


42  THE  WITNESS   OF   THE  SUN. 

there  are  horses, — made  of  fire,  but  still  horses.  It 
seems  to  me  that  birds  have  quite  as  much  right  to 
be  there." 

"  Oh,  much  more,"  said  Ilva,  gravely.  "  I  am  sure 
that  there  must  be  many  of  them." 

"  One  might  say  that  the  angels  were  a  species  of 
fowl,"  continued  Nadrovine,  gravely.  "  In  all  the 
pictures  they  have  great  wings  covered  with  feathers." 

Ilva  looked  at  him,  still  seriously,  but  her  eyes 
laughed  under  their  broad  lids. 

"  I  have  always  thought  they  must  be  so  uncom 
fortable,"  she  said.  "One  would  have  always  to 
be  considering  them,  like  a  court-train  or  a  travel 
ling-case." 

"  What  a  prosaic  simile !"  cried  Nadrovine,  and 
then  they  both  laughed.  It  is  as  impossible  for  two 
people  who  have  laughed  together  to  remain  ceremo 
nious  in  manner,  as  for  a  person  to  maintain  strict 
dignity  during  a  first  lesson  on  the  violin. 

The  butterfly  was  alarmed  into  flight  by  the  gay 
sound,  but  they  moved  nearer  each  other. 

"  I  begin  to  recognize  the  little  girl  I  used  to 
know,"  said  Nadrovine.  "When  I  first  saw  you 
the  other  night  I  thought  you  had  become  very  stiff 
and  conventional  and  difficult.  You  were  rather 
severe  with  me  also." 

"  Was  I  ?"  said  Ilva.  "  Well »  She  paused, 

and  looked  at  him,  laughing  somewhat.  "I,  too, 
thought  you  very  disagreeable,"  she  said. 


THE  WITNESS   OF   THE  SUN.  43 

"  And  I  tried  to  be  so  charming." 

"  That  was  the  reason,  doubtless.  If  one  wishes 
to  be  odious,  one  has  only  to  try  to  be  charming." 

"  And  does  your  rule  work  both  ways,  signorina  ? 
If  so,  I  shall  begin  to  behave  accordingly." 

She  looked  at  him  again,  and  again  laughed. 

"  I  like  you  very  well  as  you  are,"  she  told  him. 

"  But  you  do  not  know  me  as  I  am,"  persisted 
Nadrovine :  "  you  only  know  me  as  I  seem.  If 
you  are  as  cynical  as  you  used  to  be,  I  shall  feel  a 
dread  of  your  knowing  me  better." 

"As  I  used  to  be?" 

"  Yes,  when  you  wrote  that  terrible  sentence, 
'  Married  love  is  like  champagne  with' " 

"  Do  not !"  cried  Ilva.  "  It  is  as  bad  to  quote 
one's  sayings  to  one,  as  to  tell  one  that  you  once 
heard  Patti  or  Scalchi  sing  the  song  that  one  has 
just  sung." 

"  But  tell  me,  then,  signorina,  do  you  still  believe 
that?" 

"  I  have  no  experience,"  said  the  girl,  demurely. 
"  Some  day  when  I  am  famous " 

"  Ah,  then  you  do  intend  to  be  famous  ?" 

"  If  I  can.  Now,  there  you  have  experience. 
Tell  me,  is  it  pleasant  to  be  famous  ?" 

Nadrovine  changed  his  position  before  replying. 
He  leaned  forward,  and,  resting  his  elbows  on  his 
knees,  fitted  a  blade  of  grass  between  his  joined 
thumbs. 


44  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  fame  reminds  me  of, 
doushka,"  he  said,  a  little  absently.  "There  is  a 
picture  by  Van  Dyck  of  Charles  V.  in  the  Uffizi 
in  your  Florence,  that  is  my  idea  of  fame.  The 
king  is  in  full  armor,  on  horseback,  and  an  eagle 
holds  a  wreath  of  laurel  over  his  head.  The  eagle 
seems  to  me  to  be  an  admirable  type  of  fame. 
When  he  finally  consents  to  crown  one  with  the 
laurel,  he  at  the  same  time  gives  one  a  sharp  dig 
with  his  mighty  beak." 

"I  thought  you  had  everything  in  the  world," 
said  the  girl,  impulsively.  Nadrovine  lifted  his 
thumbs,  with  the  carefully-arranged  blade  of  grass, 
to  his  lips,  and  blew  a  shrill  little  blast. 

"  That  reminds  me  so  of  my  boyhood,"  he  said, 
before  directly  replying  to  her.  "I  had  an  old 
nurse  who  used  to  make  me  those  whistles  by  the 
hour.  She  predicted,  by  the  way,  that  I  should 
have  nothing  in  the  world  that  I  wanted." 

"  But  you  have  fame,  success,  renown  ?"  said  Ilva. 

"  Only  a  little  of  each,  doushka."  He  called  her 
by  the  uncouth  term  of  endearment  absolutely  with 
out  thinking.  She  seemed  as  much  a  child  to  him 
as  she  had  done  seven  years  ago  in  her  brown  hoi- 
land  frock  and  flowing  mane.  But  she  was  not  as 
much  a  child :  she  was  like  a  rose-branch  on  which 
some  flowers  are  in  full  bloom  and  others  yet  in  the 
bud.  It  remained  for  him  to  discover  this,  however. 

"  Only  a  very  little  of  each,"  he  repeated. 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  45 

"  But,"  she  said,  with  some  impatience,  "  how 
can  that  be  ?  You  are  known  in  many  countries  ? 
Your  books  are  translated  into  many  tongues? 
You  are  honored  and  fdted  wherever  you  choose  to 
appear  ?" 

Nadrovine  threw  away  the  grass-blade  and  turned 
towards  her,  again  running  his  hand  deep  into  his 
curls  and  so  leaning  upon  it. 

"Does  it  not  occur  to  you,  signorina,"  he  said, 
"  that  if  my  measure  of  success  were  quite  full,  its 
contents  would  not  rattle  so  noisily  ?" 

"  Bah !"  said  Ilva,  with  energetic  rudeness,  "  that 
is  unworthy  of  you  !  That  is  fallacy.  Why  not  be 
honest  and  acknowledge  that  you  are  famous  and 
successful  ?  I  should  like  you  so  much  better." 

"  Would  you  ?"  he  said,  a  little  curiously. 

She  had  furled  her  big  white  parasol,  and  the  bril 
liant  sunset  light  was  fall  upon  her.  Her  spirited 
head  was  tilted  rather  imperiously  backward.  One 
could  see  the  pulses  of  her  throat  stirring  the  lace 
of  her  white  gown.  Her  hair  and  eyes  seemed  to 
concentrate  the  surrounding  brilliancy. 

"  I  should,  I  should,"  she  assured  him,  vehemently. 
"•It  is  as  false  as  though  I  were  to  look  in  my  mirror 
and  turn  simpering  away  to  murmur,  '  How  ugly  I 
am!'" 

Nadrovine  looked  at  her,  amused,  but  roused. 

"  So  you  do  not  make  a  secret  of  what  your  mirror 
tells  you  ?"  said  he. 


46  THE  WITNESS   OF  THE  SUN. 

"  Dio  !  no  !  Why  should  I  ?  I  have  eyes,  and 
I  have  an  excellent  appreciation.  It  is  absurd  to 
imagine  that  I  do  not  know  I  am  handsome.  There 
is  this  about  it  only.  I  do  not  admire  myself.  I 
am  too  slight,  too  pale.  I  like  magnificent  women, 
with  brilliant  coloring  like  an  oil-painting.  I  am 
like  a  pastel.  But  because  I  and  some  others  do 
not  admire  myself,  is  no  reason  why  I  should  deny 
that  I  am  handsome." 

She  paused,  still  looking  at  him,  with  her  straight, 
dark  brows  drawn  into  a  slight  frown. 

Nadrovine  forgot  for  a  moment  that  she  was  only 
a  little  girl  of  seventeen,  she  looked  so  thoroughly 
the  woman,  with  her  superb  pose  and  air  of  dis 
pleased  royalty. 

"  You  have  expressed  it  for  me  admirably,  signo- 
rina,"  he  said,  at  last.  "  I  do  not  admire  myself." 

"  Be  honest,-  then,  and  confess  that  others  admire 
you." 

"  Do  you  ?"  he  said,  smiling,  but  with  quickness. 

"  Is  not  'that  a  little  impertinent  ?"  she  replied, 
but  also  smiling. 

"  Perhaps.  But  I  was  going  to  say  that  if  you 
admire  me  I  will  confess  myself  a  success." 

"  That  is  even  more  unworthy  of  you  than  several 
other  remarks  you  have  made  this  afternoon.  I  did 
not  think  that  you  would  attempt  flattery."  She 
turned  her  head  away,  and  he  thought  that  she  was 
angry. 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  47 

"  I  am  sorry  if  you  think  I  meant  to  flatter  you," 
he  said,  after  a  slight  pause.  "  Are  you  very  much 
vexed  with  me  ?" 

"  No,  not  vexed,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  What  then  ?     Disgusted  ?" 

"  No,  no,"  she  said,  hastily.  Then,  with  a  little 
movement  towards  her  sunshade,  which  lay  on  the 
seat  beside  her,  "  Is  it  not  getting  rather  late  ?  Had 
we  not  better  go  in  ?" 

A  sudden  thought  struck  Nad  ro vine. 

"Doushka,"  he  said,  gently,  "will  you  look  at 
me?" 

"  I  would  rather,  that  is,  of  course,"  she  replied, 
turning  hurriedly.  It  was  as  he  had  thought.  Great 
tears  stood  in  her  eyes.  Nadrovine  felt  a  strange 
stirring  in  his  breast.  He  let  slip  all  his  chill  deli 
cacy  of  manner,  while  the  blood  sprang  into  his  face. 

"  I  beg  you  to  forgive  me.  I  beg  you  to  forgive 
me,"  he  said,  unsteadily.  "  I  forgot  for  a  moment 
that  I  was  not  talking  to  a  woman  of  the  world,  who 
would  know  how  to  accept  such  an  absurd  speech  for 
its  worth." 

Had  he  wished  this  time  to  utter  the  most  insidious 
piece  of  flattery  in  his  power,  he  could  not  have 
reached  the  desired  result  more  completely.  To  be 
mistaken  for  a  woman  of  the  world  is  as  delightful 
to  a  young  girl  as  for  an  older  woman  to  be  likened 
to  a  child.  Her  beautiful,  luminous  eyes  did  not  fall 
from  his. 


48  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

"  One  hates  to  be  flattered  by  those  whom  one  es 
teems,  as  much  as  one  likes  to  be  flattered  by  those  for 
whom  one  doesn't  care,"  she  said.  "  When  one  doesn't 
care,  one  laughs  for  thinking  how  silly  people  can  be,  to 
fancy  one  is  going  to  believe  such  words,  and  so  amuses 
one's  self.  But  when  one  does  care,  it  is  different." 

Nadrovine  got  to  his  feet  and  walked  to  the  edge 
of  the  little  bluff.  He  stood  there  a  few  moments, 
and  then  came  back  to  her. 

"  I  will  not  say  all  to  you  that  I  feel,"  he  said, 
looking  down  at  her,  "  lest  you  think  me  crazy.  But 
will  you  tell  me  that  you  have  forgiven  me  ?" 

"  Indeed,  indeed  I  will,"  she  said,  happily.  "  I 
do  not  think  you  will  ever  speak  so  to  me  again." 

"  No,  I  do  not  think  it  likely,"  replied  Nadrovine. 

Ilva  was  very  light-hearted  the  rest  of  that  even 
ing  and  all  the  next  day.  She  felt  that  Nadrovine 
comprehended  her  better  than  at  first  and  would  not 
hereafter  treat  her  so  entirely  as  a  child.  She  got 
out  the  different  notices  of  him  and  read  them  over. 
What  a  brilliant  man  he  was,  after  all,  and  what 
exquisite  romances  he  wrote  !  She  buried  herself  in 
a  hammock  and  read  one  all  day.  It  was  as  though 
he  were  speaking  to  her.  She  recognized  one  or  two 
things  that  she  had  already  heard  him  say. 

V. 

Nadrovine  tried  to  analyze  the  feelings  which  had 
possessed  him  when  he  saw  the  tears  in  the  girl's  eyes. 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  49 

It  escaped  him,  however,  as  a  float  of  light  escapes  a 
child's  grasp,  falling  each  time  outside  of  the  fingers 
that  would  seize  it.  He  was  entirely  conscious  of 
the  light,  but  it  danced  elusively  and  would  not  re 
main  still  to  be  analyzed.  He  realized  only  one  de 
cided  emotion,  the  wish  to  see  the  eyes  again,  and — 
alas  for  the  humanity  which  in  his  romances  he  so 
lauded  ! — to  again  behold  them  full  of  tears. 

Had  she  been  the  ordinary  type  of  a  pretty,  un 
sophisticated  young  girl,  the  tears  would  have  signi 
fied  to  him  mere  moisture.  But  she  was  so  extremely 
removed  from  anything  ordinary  that  they  occupied 
in  his  mind  a  place  as  unique  as  the  drops  which 
the  fairy  hung  in  every  cowslip's  ear.  How  vigorous 
and  spirited  she  had  looked  while  pouring  forth  all 
that  tirade  against  him !  She  reminded  him  of  a 
young  Caryatid  who  was  fully  capable  of  supporting 
the  temple  of  her  convictions.  He  was  not,  as  a 
rule,  fanciful,  but  he  fell  to  wondering  how  her 
lovely  curves  would  express  themselves  beneath  the 
folds  of  a  Greek  peplos.  There  should  be  a  crown 
of  red  roses  on  her  hair,  some  of  their  shaken  leaves 
upon  her  breast,  one  of  her  long  white  arms  sunk 
deep  into  thick  grass.  Some  one  said  of  Yernet 
smoking,  "Pif!  paf!  pouf!  and  he  makes  a  man." 
"  Pif!  paf!  pouf!"  and  Nadrovine  made  a  goddess. 

Not  content  with  that,  he  fashioned  a  sultana, 
whose  great,  violet-gray  eyes  were  like  rain-washed 
amethysts.  He  surrounded  her  with  Circassian  girls, 
c  d  5 


50  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

who  fanned  her  with  wonderful  plumes  that  leaped 
like  flames  from  long  wands  of  ivory.  He  went 
further,  and  created  a  little  Russian,  whose  heavy 
hair  drifting  over  her  dress  of  palest  blue  and  pink 
was  as  sunlight  athwart  the  late  sky  outside. 

Nadrovine  was  as  fond  of  dreaming  with  his  eyes 
open  as  are  all  who  will  acknowledge  it.  There  was 
not  a  pretty  woman  of  his  acquaintance  whom  he 
had  not  espoused  in  imagination,  and  from  whom  he 
had  not  divorced  himself  the  following  day,  or  week, 
or  month,  as  the  case  had  been.  One  would  have 
annoyed  him  in  his  writing-hours,  one  would  have 
expected  too  much,  one  had  coarse  elbows  when  she 
took  off  her  long  gloves  at  a  dinner.  All  made  him 
smile.  Ilva,  on  the  contrary,  made  him  frown, — a 
perplexed  frown.  She  would  probably  never  annoy 
him  in  his  writing-hours,  as  she  wrote  herself.  Her 
elbows  were  as  complete  as  flowers.  Then  he  had 
always  remembered  her  with  a  tenderness  which 
now  made  itself  remembered  in  turn. 

He  leaped  to  his  feet  all  at  once  and  became  very 
serious.  He  would  not  allow  himself  to  think  of 
her  in  a  light  way,  no  matter  how  pure.  He  had 
respected  her  as  a  child ;  how  much  more  should  he 
respect  her  as  a  woman  !  For  she  was  a  woman,  he 
told  himself,  although  the  ghost  of  her  child-self 
haunted  her  voice  and  speech  and  gestures,  even  at 
times  the  expression  of  her  face. 

She  had   occupied   always   a   high   place  in  his 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  51 

thoughts.  She  should  occupy  one  higher  still,  and 
in  mounting  to  her  new  position  she  should  close 
the  door  of  her  past  dwelling  behind  her,  as  the 
chambered  nautilus  closes  the  door  of  its  old  habita 
tion.  She  should  become  to  him  the  type  of  noble 
womanhood,  his  Madonna  Mia,  whom  he  would 
help  along  the  gracious  ways  wherein  her  feet  were 
set.  He  was  not  thinking  of  love,  the  love  that 
leads  to  marriage.  Custom  and  a  corrupt  society  had 
given  him  rather  a  gross  idea  of  such  love.  He  would 
never  attempt  to  catch  this  Psyche  by  her  wings,  but 
would  make  so  alluring  the  gardens  in  which  he 
walked  that  she  would  alight  among  his  flowers  of 
her  own  free  will.  Theirs  would  be  an  ideal  love, 
the  winging  of  two  souls  to  one  object.  He  had  en 
tirely  forgotten  for  the  moment  that  Etiquette  rules 
in  Demeter's  place,  and  that  even  souls  are  not  un- 
discussed  of  domestics. 

Nadrovine  was  not  rich.  He  was,  in  fact,  rather 
poor,  although  he  would  inherit  great  wealth  on  his 
mother's  death.  His  poverty,  however,  was  in  a 
great  degree  the  result  of  carelessness.  He  made 
and  spent  money  with  equal  ease.  He  decided  now 
that  he  was  thoroughly  capable  of  supporting  a  wife, 
should  he  ever  look  upon  such  a  possibility  as  serious. 
The  girl  passed  and  repassed  before  him.  Again 
and  again  he  saw  her  tear-filled  eyes.  The  faint  per 
fume  of  the  azaleas  at  her  belt  disturbed  him.  He 
seemed  again  to  hold  her  hand, — the  pliable,  lovely 


52  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

hand,  that  had  been  so  quiet,  and  yet  so  strong, 
within  his.  It  was  her  latent  strength,  as  much  as 
her  beauty,  that  he  found  enchanting. 

At  this  point  in  his  meditations  he  went  and  leaned 
over  the  terrace  of  the  villa  at  which  he  was  stop 
ping,  and  looked  down  into  the  sea.  The  night 
was  very  sultry,  and  the  whisper  of  the  water 
sounded  like  an  invitation.  Nadrovine  was  much 
given  to  nocturnal  swimming.  It  was  long  past 
midnight,  and  no  one  besides  himself  was  awake  in 
the  house.  He  went  down  the  sea-steps,  after  fetch 
ing  his  bath-sheet,  and  plunged  into  the  tremulous 
net-work  of  moonlit  ripples.  Even  this  did  not 
change  the  tenor  of  his  thoughts.  As  the  cool  waves 
caressed  and  clasped  him,  he  found  himself  wonder 
ing  if  Ilva  Demarini  were  a  good  swimmer,  and,  if 
such  were  the  case,  how  delightful  it  would  be  to 
cleave  that  gleaming  highway  which  led  even  to  the 
portal  of  the  rising  moon,  with  her  beside  him.  He 
could  fancy  her  flower-like  limbs  in  their  drenched 
white  garments,  and  the  flow  of  her  radiant  hair 
into  the  flow  of  the  sheeny  water.  She  would  turn 
her  noble  head  every  now  and  then  and  smile  and 
speak  to  him.  If  she  grew  tired,  she  should  give 
herself  into  his  arm,  and  he  would  swim  with  the 
other  and  so  sustain  her. 

"I  am  thinking  a  great  deal  about  that  young 
girl,"  he  said  to  himself,  with  some  wonder,  as  he 
resumed  his  clothes  and  returned  to  his  room.  He 


THE   WITNESS   OF   THE  SUN.  53 

went  and  lifted  her  silver  book  from  a  carefully- 
locked  case  which  stood  on  his  writing-table,  and, 
seating  himself,  began  to  mark  such  passages  as  he 
considered  appropriate  for  her  to  read.  He  was  fa 
miliar  with  Ariosto,  but  re-read  many  stanzas,  with 
that  added  interest  which  we  always  take  in  the 
pre-imagined  appreciation  of  another. 

When  he  next  called  at  the  Villa  Demarini,  not 
only  was  he  told  that  the  countess  was  out,  but  that 
the  signorina  had  gone  for  a  walk.  As  he  passed 
along  the  terrace  on  his  way  back,  it  suddenly  occurred 
to  him  that  he  would  rest  for  a  few  moments  among 
the  ruins  of  the  little  temple  on  the  hill-top.  He 
found  there  a  palm-leaf  fan,  a  scarf  of  some  gauzy, 
smoke-colored  material,  and  the  second  volume  of 
Taine's  "  English  Literature."  He  lifted  his  brows 
a  little  as  he  took  the  book  into  his  hand  and  began 
turning  the  leaves.  As  he  glanced  over  the  pages, 
some  words  scribbled  in  pencil  caught  his  eye.  He 
paused  and  read  them.  They  were  written  at  the  end 
of  the  chapter  on  Ben  Jonson,  and  were  referred  by 
an  asterisk  to  the  sentences  regarding  the  complete 
idea  which  "conceives  of  the  entire  animal,  its  color, 
the  play  of  the  light  upon  its  skin,  its  form,  the 
quivering  of  its  outstretched  limbs,  the  flash  of  its 
eyes,  and  at  the  same  time  its  passion  of  the  mo 
ment,  its  excitement,  its  dash." 

"  This  is  surely  very  strange  I"  Ilva  had  written. 
"  When  on  the  other  page  Taine  spoke  of  the  ordi- 
5* 


54  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

nary  mind  trying  to  imagine  an  animal  unseen  of 
actual  eyes,  I  closed  mine,  and,  for  example,  imagined 
a  tiger  (a  beast  which  I  have  never  seen).  I  saw 
— nay,  I  heard  the  crisp  crackling  of  the  jungle  reeds 
and  grass,  with  their  russet- verdant  lights  filtering 
through,  the  water  curling  among  the  thick  blades 
and  stems,  the  flash  of  ragged  and  tawny  reflection 
as  the  great  beast  came  padding  through,  the  serrated 
edges  of  the  stiff  blades  dragging  along  his  sleek 
sides,  the  play  of  light  among  the  supple  wrinkles  of 
his  hide,  the  darkening  and  yellowing  of  the  great 
eyes  as  his  pupils  contracted  and  dilated  at  the  sight 
of  a  drinking  form.  More  than  this,  I  felt  with 
him,  marked  the  angry  jerking  of  his  tail's  tip,  and 
the  sheathing  and  unsheathing  of  his  bluish-brown 
claws  in  the  oozy  soil." 

These  hastily-scrawled  sentences  had  a  subtle 
charm  for  Nadrovine,  they  were  so  entirely  differ 
ent  from  the  sentiments  which  most  young  ladies 
scribbled  on  the  margins  of  their  favorite  volumes. 
Had  II va  ornamented  the  margin  of  the  pages  with 
many  a  "  Bella  !  Superba  !  Bellissima !"  it  would 
have  seemed  to  him  only  the  natural  result  of  a 
young  girPs  perusing  so  vivid  a  book.  This  account 
of  a  mind-seen  tiger  aroused  his  surprise  and  a  de 
cided  degree  of  admiration.  He  felt  that  his  interest 
in  her  was  a  crescendo,  where  in  all  other  cases  it 
had  been  decidedly  a  diminuendo.  "  Without  doubt 
this  little  girl  has  a  singular  fascination  for  me,"  he 


THE    WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  55 

said  to  himself,  impatiently.  "  I  come  to  call.  She 
is  out.  I  am  conscious  of  actual  disappointment.  I 
take  up  a  book  she  has  been  reading,  see  some 
words  that  she  has  written  on  the  margin,  and  thrill 
like  any  school-boy  over  the  autograph  of  his  first 

flame.     I  wonder  if  it  can  be  possible  that  I 

Ouph  !  I  am  idiotic  !  I  shall  go  and  begin  work  on 
that  twenty-third  chapter.'7  As  he  was  setting  forth 
with  this  laudable  determination,  however,  there  came 
to  him  a  sound  of  voices  laughing,  voices  that  ap 
proached  nearer  each  moment,  and  as  he  stood  at  the 
top  of  the  stone  stair- way,  II va  appeared  at  the  foot 
with  a  pretty  child  astride  of  her  shoulders.  Its 
small  hands  were  clutched  in  her  riotous  hair,  and 
her  white  woollen  gown,  full  of  wild  flowers,  was 
pinned  up  about  her  waist.  She  held  the  child's 
dainty  ankles  in  one  shapely  hand,  and  the  other 
grasped  several  dolls  and  a  straw  hat  with  a  gold- 
colored  lining.  As  she  bent  her  head  in  the  effort 
of  climbing  the-  rather  difficult  steps,  she  did  not 
catch  sight  of  Nadrovine  during  her  ascent,  and  the 
child  was  too  delighted  with  her  tawny-maned  steed 
to  take  much  notice  of  anything  else.  All  the  way 
up  she  chattered  gayly : 

"  And  you  will  tell  me  a  story  ?  and  then  we  will 
have  chocolate?  and  a  ball?  You  will  invite  the 
orioles,  won't  you,  darling  cousine  ?  and  the  lizards  ? 
Do  you  know  their  tails  break  oif — snap  ! — if  one 
tries  to  catch  them  that  way  ?  The  olives  are  so 


56  TEE    WITNESS   OF   THE  SUX. 

black  now;  but  we  can  pretend  they  are  dates. 
Have  you  grapes,  cousine?  And  the  apricot  I 
gave  you  ?  Oh  !  and  the  little  knives  and  forks  ?" 

"  Yrr.  y— .  yes.  to  everything/'*  replied  the  girl, 
merrily.  '•  But,  darling,  if  you  pull  out  all  my  hair, 
there  will  be  no  golden  wire  to  strangle  the  nanghty 
prince  with." 

•"*  Oh  !  do  I  pull  you.  my  very  dearest  ?"  said  the 
little  rider,  distressed  :  then,  all  at  once  breaking  off, 
"  Look  !  is  that  the  prince  ?" 

"Who?  where?"'  said  Ilva,  staring.  Then  she 
too  stopped.  "Is  it  you?"  she  asked,  and  to  her 
dismay  felt  the  warm  color  wrap  all  her  face, 

••  Unless  it  is  my  doppelganger,"  said  Xadrovine, 
gravely.  "  And  so  I  am  the  prince  who  is  to  be 
strangled  with  a  golden  wire?  What  have  I  done  so 
wicked  as  all  tluv 

"  Y:> •.:  wfll  have  to  ask  Lotta,*'  said  Ilva.  "  I  am 
only  chief  executioner.  I  am  not  informed  about  the 
offences." 

The  pretty  elf  on  her  neck  swung  round  in  order 
to  look  earnestly  into  her  eyes. 

"  Oh.  cousine  !'"  exclaimed  she,  "  but  you  do  know 
about  the  prince !  H  xJetta's  sash  to  draw 

himself  up  to  Viola's  win- 1 

That  was  indeed  a  crime,"  said  Xadrovine, 
"  But  why  do  you  particularly  strangle  him  with  a 
golden  wire?*' 

"  Oh,  because — because — because  it  suits  his  com- 


THE    WITNESS   OF  THE  SUN.  57 

plexion,"  ended  the  elf,  nodding  triumphantly  at 
him.  She  was  as  unlike  Ilva  as  possible.  Her 
dark  hair,  falling  in  dense,  web-like  masses  about 
her  small  pale  face,  had  absolutely  no  reflections. 
Her  eyes  were  a  clear  sea-gray,  with  soft  shadows 
above  and  beneath  them.  She  was  exquisitely 
formed,  slender  and  graceful  as  a  dragon-fly.  In 
her  little  white  pinafore  were  three  more  dolls. 

"  You  must  introduce  me  to  these  young  ladies," 
he  said,  smiling,  and  holding  out  his  hand.  The 
small  Lotta  placed  one  of  hers  sedately  in  the  clearly- 
marked  palm. 

••  This  is  the  bride/'  she  said,  indicating  a  damsel 
in  white  satin  with  a  very  fluffy  coiffure  and  gigantic 
flesh-colored  kid  arms.  "She  is  to  marry  the 
prince." 

"  Oh !  then  she  must  be  Viola,"  said  Xadrovine. 

"  No,  oh,  no,  indeed  !"  Lotta  assured  him.  "  It  is 
Viola  whom  he  loves  only  ;  it  is  Nicoletta  whom  he 
is  to  many." 

"  Ah  !"  said  Xadrovine,  seriously.  "  Then  he  is 
rich?" 

••  Xo,  no!"  replied  Lotta,  vehemently:  "it  is 
letta  who  is  rich.  Don't  you  see?  Else,  of 
course,  he  would  many  Viola." 

"  Dearest  little  one,"  said  Ilva,  "  who  taught  you 
all  this?  It  isn't  fair  for  Xicoletta  to  have  all  the 
money." 

The  child  looked  at  her  shrewdly. 


58  THE  WITNESS   OF  THE  SUN. 

"  Mamma  has  all  the  money,"  she  said.  "  Aunt 
Anita  has  not  a " 

"  The  apricot !     I  have  dropped  it !"  cried  Ilva. 

'  Then,  as  the  child  ran  after  it,  she  turned  impetu 
ously  to  Nadrovine. 

"Do  not  think  I  have  been  teaching  her  such 
things/'  she  said.  "  I  keep  her  with  me  as  much 
as  I  can,  but,  do  what  I  may,  she  sees  too  much  of 
the  servants." 

"I  never  think  anything  of  you  but  what  you 
would  like  to  know/7  said  Nadrovine.  She  turned 
away  towards  the  child,  and  wiped  the  fallen  apricot 
on  a  handful  of  grass. 

"  Now  we  will  have  the  feast,"  she  said.  "  Ask 
Signer  Nadrovine  to  gather  you  some  olives,  if  you 
wish  them." 

He  went  to  the  gnarled  olive-tree  and  returned 
with  a  handful  of  the  shrivelled  fruit,  and  in  the 
mean  time  Ilva  had  set  out  the  mimic  repast  on  the 
old  marble  seat,  with  her  lace-edged  pocket-handker 
chief  for  a  table-cloth.  The  little  set  of  red-and-gilt 
china  glittered  brightly  in  the  afternoon  sun.  There 
were  several  dishes  composed  of  a  grape  each,  and 
Nadrovine  cut  the  apricot,  as  Lotta  directed,  into 
three  pieces.  There  was  a  lump  of  sugar  for  each  of 
the  dolls,  and  Lotta  bit  a  corner  from  hers  with  her 
sharp  little  teeth,  to  offer  Nadrovine. 

"  Who  is  the  charming  young  lady  in  blue  ?" 
he  asked,  as  he  crunched  this  original  gift. 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  59 

"  Who?  Francesca?  She  is  the  Signora  Marilli. 
She  hates  her  husband  dreadfully,  and  is  in  love 
with  the  prince,  and  flirts  disgustingly,  and " 

"Don't  you  think  it  is  time  to  strangle  the 
prince?"  asked  Ilva,  who  was  seated  on  the  dry 
grass,  braiding  up  the  abundant  brown  locks  of  Nico- 
letta.  Lotta  agreed  that  she  thought  it  was,  and, 
having  risen,  shook  out  her  pinafore  and  said  that 
she  would  go  to  prepare  the  place  of  execution. 

"  Get  a  nice  long  one !"  she  called  to  Ilva  over  her 
shoulder. 

"To  what  does  that  refer?"  said  Nadrovine. 
Ilva  laughed, — a  little  confusedly,  he  thought. 

"Why,  it  is  dreadful  nonsense,  you  know,"  she 
replied,  "  but  she  is  such  a  dear  child.  She  means  a 
strand  of  my  hair." 

Nadrovine  regarded  her  absently  while  she  drew 
out  the  glittering  almost  invisible  filament  from  her 
masses  of  burnished  coils.  "  And  round  his  heart 
one  strangling  golden  hair,"  he  said,  half  to  himself. 

"  Ah  !  Rossetti,"  said  Ilva,  with  one  of  her  swift 
glances.  "  I  do  not  always  understand  Rossetti ;  but 
that  is  beautiful." 

"  It  is  profoundly  true,"  said  Nadrovine. 

"  What !  you  believe  in  the  men  who  have  died 
for  love  ?"  said  the  girl,  smiling. 

"  Do  not  you  believe  it?" 

"  For  love  of  themselves  and  of  their  own  way, 
yes,"  she  said,  mischievously.  "  I  don't  believe  in 


60  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

strangling  golden  hairs,  though.  But  then  one 
can't  blame  Rossetti  for  writing  rather  bitterly  of 
golden  hair." 

"Why?"  said  Nadrovine,  who  had  long  passed 
the  stage  when  he  feared  that  her  conversation  would 
disappoint  him. 

"Why?  That  is  evident,  I  think.  Did  he  not 
lament  his  wife  to  such  an  extent  that  he  buried  all 
his  manuscripts  with  her,  and  did  he  not  afterwards 
have  the  poor  woman  disturbed  in  her  grave  that  he 
might  recover  them,  and  found  that  her  beautiful 
golden  hair  had  grown  all  about  them?  Perhaps 
it  is  not  true ;  but  I  have  heard  it  many  times." 

"  Then  the  strangling  golden  hair  must  have  been 
true  in  his  case.  He  died  rather  young,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  but  he  died  of  insomnia." 

"And  don't  you  think  a  strangling  golden  hair 
would  be  very  likely  to  cause  insomnia  ?" 

"  I  know  that  you  are  joking,"  said  Ilva,  lightly. 
"  And  it  is  useless  to  try  to  prove  to  me  that  men  are 
faithful  to  their  dead.  They  wear  loyalty  so  many 
months,  as  women  wear  crape,  and  then  take  another 
bride,  as  a  woman  puts  on  colors." 

"  And  you  think  all  women  faithful  ?" 

"  Not  all,  of  course,  but  nearly  all.  Why,  surely 
you  will  acknowledge  that  ?" 

Nadrovine  looked  down  a  moment  into  his  hat, 
which  he  held  between  his  knees. 

"I  will  tell  you  what  I  think,  signorina,"  he  said. 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  61 

"  The  most  faithful  thing,  after  a  dog,  is  the  woman 
whom  one  has  ceased  to  love." 

He  liked  to  bring  the  blood-stain  to  her  clear 
brow. 

"One  never  ceases  to  love,"  she  said,  haughtily. 
"  If  one  ceases,  as  you  call  it,  one  has  never  loved. 
One  may  have  a  passion,  of  course,  and  that  may 
cease :  I  do  not  suppose  you  think  of  such  cases  ?" 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  if  you  loved  once  it 
would  be  forever  ?"  said  Nadrovine. 

She  remained  quite  still  for  a  moment,  leaning  on 
her  hand,  with  her  long  fingers  sunk  deep  into  her 
hair  and  her  eyes  on  the  sea.  Presently  she  looked 
at  him  steadily. 

"Yes,"  she  replied. 

Then  said  Nadrovine,  in  a  voice  not  familiar  to 
himself,  "  I  believe  that  you  would." 

The  old  proverb  about  the  devil  may  be  applied 
to  Love :  speak  of  him,  and  he  is  sure  to  appear. 
He  is  a  confirmed  eavesdropper,  and  never  hears  his 
name  mentioned  that  he  does  not  hasten  to  the  spot. 
The  things  that  he  overhears  are  generally  so  pleasant 
that  he  has  never  been  broken  of  this  reprehensible 
habit. 

"  I  believe  that  you  would,"  Nadrovine  repeated. 

"  Of  course ;  yes.  Why  not  ?"  said  Ilva,  hur 
riedly,  disturbed  by  the  new  note  in  his  voice. 
"  How  long  Lotta  takes  !  Lotta !" 

Nadrovine  smiled,  leaning  his  head  back  against 
6 


62  THE   WITNESS   OF  THE  SUN. 

the  marble  seat.  The  leaf-shadows  trembled  across 
his  throat,  and  it  looked  so  sensitive  in  its  brown 
clearness  that  the  girl  wondered  the  dancing  flecks 
did  not  tickle  him. 

"  Lotta !  Lotta  !"  she  called  again. 

"  Now,  if  these  were  the  days  of  Pan,"  said  Na- 
drovine,  looking  down  upon  her,  his  smile  gone,  "  do 
you  know  what  would  happen  ?" 

"  No,"  she  replied,  returning  his  gaze  as  if  com 
pelled,  but  with  an  unmoved  serenity. 

"  Why,  there  would  come  a  little  faun,  a  charming 
little  kid  faun,  out  of  the  ilexes  there,  and  he  would 
flute  away  on  his  reeds  until  the  dainty  Lotta  danced 
away  on  his  arm,  out  of  sight,  out  of  hearing." 

He  paused,  as  if  expecting  her  to  say  something. 

"  And  then  ?"  she  asked,  mechanically. 

"  And  then,"  said  Nadrovine,  gravely,  "  then  we 
could  continue  our  talk  together." 

A  gleam  went  over  her  face,  like  the  reflection  of 
a  white  bird's  wing  in  shadowed  water.  She  felt  a 
rebellion  against  his  words,  and  yet  she  wished  that 
she  had  allowed  Lotta  to  go  with  her  nurse  that  after 
noon.  She  answered,  however,  with  perfect  sim 
plicity, — 

"  You  do  not  like  children  ?" 

"  On  the  contrary.  But  there  are  some  things  that 
I  like  better." 

"Ah?     It  is  that?" 

"  It  is  that,  signorina." 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  53 

She  turned  to  him  suddenly  with  all  the  frankness 
of  a  flower  that  wears  the  sky's  livery  and  sees  no 
presumption  in  the  act. 

"  Dear  Signor  Nadrovine,"  she  smiled, — he  saw 
the  light  strike  clearly  through  the  opal  brightness 
of  her  little  teeth, — acan  you  mean  seriously  that  it 
gives  you  pleasure  to  talk  to  me  ?" 

Nadrovine  did  not  smile  in  reply.  He  was  very 
grave,  and  his  eyes  met  hers  in  a  level  look. 

"  It  gives  me  the  greatest  pleasure  that  I  know," 
he  answered,  and  their  eyes  held  each  other. 

"  You  are  very  good/7  said  Ilva,  presently,  in  a 
low  voice,  possessing  her  eyes  again.  She  held  out 
both  hands  to  Lotta,  who  had  returned  after  ar 
ranging  elaborately  the  place  of  execution,  and  pre 
tended  to  let  the  child  pull  her  to  her  feet. 

"  Why,  you  are  quite  a  little  Amazon  !"  said  Na- 
drovine. 

"Pouf!  that  is  nothing,"  replied  Mademoiselle. 
"  I  fence.  I  fence  with  Victor.  I  can  do  un,  deux, 
un,  deux,  trois,  doublez,  deYloublez— -fendez-vous  !  I 
fence  better  than  many  boys.  They  get  so  angry. 
They  want  to  poke  one.  George — he  is  my  other 
brother — said,  '  Cre !  ere"  !'  to  me  one  day  when  I  dis 
armed  him.  He  danced  :  he  did,  indeed.  He  looked 
very  ugly.  I  said,  ( I  pity  your  wife,  mow  cher,'  and 
was  so  calm  that  he  would  have  liked  to  slap  me.  He 
would  have  slapped  me  if  he  had  not  known  that 
Victor  would  tell  and  he  would  get  slapped  himself. 


64  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

You  see  ?"  She  bared  one  pale  little  wrist,  with  its 
purplish  thread-like  veins,  and  moved  it  from  side 
to  side,  exposing  the  flexile  muscles. 

"  It  is  like  steel,"  she  said. 

Nadrovine  examined  it  seriously. 

"  A  kiss  would  make  you  a  bracelet,  mademoiselle," 
he  remarked,  finally.  "  And  you  fence  with  this  elf's 
love-charm  ?" 

She  looked  at  him  unabashed  and  unoffended. 

"  I  fence  well,"  she  assured  him. 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it." 

"  And  I  am  learning  Italian.  Which  do  you  like 
best,  the  way  that  Signorina  Zanova  says  '  Cecilia/ 
or  the  way  that  II va  says  it  ?" 

"How  does— Ilva  say  it?" 

"  This  way,  as  if  it  were  sweet  in  her  mouth, — 
t  Sheshilia.'  I  like  that  best.  It  sounds  as  though 
she  kissed  it  before  she  let  it  get  away." 

"  Yes,  I  like  that  best,"  said  Nadrovine. 

"  Very  well.  And  when  I  am  grown  I  will  fence 
with  you." 

"  Ah,  yes,  but  it  must  be  with  foils." 

"  Why?"  asked  the  child,  puzzled. 

"Because,  mademoiselle,  to  fence  with  a  young 
demoiselle  without  foils  is  to  commit  a  great  indis 
cretion." 

"  Si  ?"  said  Lotta.  She  then  carefully  arranged 
Prince  Zi-Zi's  sash,  and,  being  weary  of  the  conver 
sation,  announced  that  it  was  time  to  strangle  him. 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  65 

"  A  strange  game,"  observed  Nadrovine,  as  he  fol 
lowed  them  to  the  place  of  execution. 

"  Yes,  but  not  so  strange  as  it  seems  until  one 
knows,"  explained  II va,  somewhat  hurriedly.  "  As 
soon  as  he  is  strangled  he  is  supposed'  to  come  to  life 
as  a  good  prince,  and  to  turn  monk  for  stealing 
Viola's  sash." 

"  It  was  Nicoletta's  sash,  was  it  not  ?" 

"  He  becomes  good, — a  monk.  We  have  a  great 
rosary  made  of  berries." 

"  A  monk  !"  said  Nadrovine. 

His  tone  arrested  the  girl.  She  paused  in  her  task 
of  tying  a  slipknot  in  the  strand  of  hair,  and  looked 
up  at  him.  His  eyes  dwelt  on  the  far  sea-blue.  She 
felt  suddenly  apart  from  him,  as  though  the  sea  had 
broken  through  the  grass  and  flowers  between  them. 

"  I  wished  to  be  a  monk  once,"  he  said,  turning  to 
her  at  last. 

"  And  now  ?"  she  said,  gently. 

"  And  now  ?  Not  always.  Sometimes.  Not 
always.  It  must  be  a  peaceful  life." 

"  After  one  has  lived,"  said  the  girl.  She  re 
garded  him  with  a  serene  wisdom  in  her  large  eyes. 

"  You  do  not  think,  then,  that  I  would  make  a 
good  monk,  signorina?" 

"Perhaps,  after  you  have  lived,"  she  repeated, 
smiling. 

"  Is  not  that  something  like  saying  that  one  would 
make  a  good  ghost  ?" 


QQ  THE  WITNESS   OF   THE  SUN. 

"  Perhaps." 

"  If  I  were  a  ghost,"  he  said,  suddenly,  "  I  would 
haunt  you.  I  would  be  in  the  wind  outside  your 
window,  and  you  should  feel  me  in  the  mists  rolling 
in  from  the  sea.  If  things  were  not  as  I  wished 
them,  I  would  disturb  you  sadly.  I  would  blow  in 
draughts  upon  such  cavaliers  as  I  did  not  approve. 
I  would  give  them  rheumatism,  influenza, — every 
thing  unlovely." 

"  In  that  case  you  would  make  a  better  monk  than 
ghost,  signor."  She  did  not  look  in  the  least  con 
scious,  and  arranged  the  golden  noose  about  Prince 
Zi-Zi's  neck  with  calm  fingers. 

"  Perhaps,"  he  said,  imitating  her  enigmatical  tone 
of  a  moment  before. 

VI. 

They  executed  the  poor  Zi-Zi,  had  another  feast, 
in  honor  of  his  revival,  and  then  prepared  to  descend 
to  the  villa. 

"  But  my  story !"  said  Lotta,  hanging  back. 
"You  haven't  told  me  a  story,  dearest  Cousine 
Ilva,  and  I  feel  so  unsettled  when  we  cease  our  play 
without  a.  story.  The  day  doesn't  end  right.  It  is 
as  if  the  sun  went  down,  splash  !  like  a  sponge  into 
the  sea,  and  put  everything  out.  When  you  tell  me 
a  story,  I  come  slowly,  slowly  to  the  idea  of  going  to 
bed,  and  then  I  put  myself  to  sleep  thinking  about 
it." 

"Can    you   refuse  that?"   said    Nadrovine;   and 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  67 

Ilva  drew  the  child  to  her  and  fondled  her  delicate 
cheek. 

"  Signor  Nadrovine  is  the  one  whom  you  should 
ask/7  she  said.  "  He  is  far  cleverer  than  I  about 
telling  stories.  People  make  books  out  of  his 
stories." 

"  Oh  !  books  !"  said  Lotta.  "  I  have  many  books. 
What  I  like  is  to  feel  that  it  is  coming  out  of  your 
lips,  quite,  quite  new,  and  that  you  don't  know  any 
more  than  I  do  what  the  next  thing  will  be." 

"  The  prettiest  story  that  I  ever  heard  as  a  little 
girl  was  told  to  me  by  Signor  Nadrovine,"  said  Ilva. 

Lotta  regarded  Nadrovine  with  palpably  increasing 
respect. 

"  If  you  would  but  tell  me  one,  signor  I" 

"  There  is  a  charming  one  that  I  think  of,"  replied 
Nadrovine.  "  It  is  called  '  The  Princess  of  the  Silver 
Book;7  and  I  do  not  know  how  it  ends,  any  more 
than  you  do." 

"  Why,  how  strange  !"  cried  the  child.  "  Cousine 
Ilva  told  me  a  story  once,  and  it  had  a  name  almost 
exact " 

"  Ah  !  the  poor,  poor  Nicoletta  !"  said  Ilva.  "  We 
are  trampling  upon  her.  Poverina !  There !  there  ! 
Hush  !  You  see  she  will  cry,  my  sweet.  You  will 
have  to  console  her  yourself.  She  is  such  a  mother- 
baby.  There !" 

Lotta  received  her  suffering  daughter  and  tossed 
her  back  and  forth  with  an  air  of  dainty  matronliness 


63  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.    . 

which  reminded  one  of  a  peach-bough  swinging  a 
blossom. 

"  Poor  thing  !  poor  thing !"  she  crooned.  "  But  it 
is  her  own  fault.  Nini  asked  her  yesterday  how  her 
migraine  was,  and  she  said  she  had  quite  recovered, 
— that  she  never  felt  better.  She  should  have  said, 
you  know,  '  Thanks,  I  am  well,  but  not  so  well  as 
yesterday.7 " 

"Ah,  yes;  you  must  teach  her  that  our  Italian 
ideas  are  not  to  be  laughed  at.  But  she  must  have 
a  new  sash  in  place  of  the  one  that  Zi-Zi  stole  away. 
Come  to  my  room  quite  early  to-morrow ;  I  have 
one  that  I  will  give  her, — such  a  pretty,  rosy  thing, 
like  a  little  strip  of  that  pink  sky  there." 

Ilva  was  hurrying  on,  delighted  at  having  turned 
the  child's  attention. 

"  Oh,  dearest  Cousine  Ilva,  thank  you  !  Nicoletta 
wishes  to  give  you  her  hand.  She  is  nearly  spring 
ing  from  my  arms  with  delight.  I  can  scarcely  hold 
her.  Dearest  Cousine  Ilva,  do  give  her  a  badgno, — 
a  wee,  wee  one.  It  will  so  please  her  !"  She  looked 
on  with  the  bland  smile  of  motherhood  during  this 
performance,  and  then,  as  she  received  the  cheered 
Nicoletta  into  her  arms  and  settled  her  gauze  skirts, 
she  said  over  her  shoulder  to  Nadrovine, — 

"  It  was  <  The  Prince  of  the  Silver  Book.'  I  had 
almost  forgotten  to  tell  you." 

For  the  second  time  that  afternoon,  Ilva  felt  her 
self  blush  from  forehead  to  throat.  In  spite  of  her 


THE  WITNESS   OF  THE  SUN.  69 

wish  to  appear  unmoved,  she  hastened  her  steps 
towards  the  house. 

Nadrovine  questioned  the  child  in  his  grave  way. 
"  That  is  a  coincidence,  is  it  not  ?"  he  said.  "  Was 
it  a  fairy-story?  and  was  the  prince  happy  in  the 
end  ?" 

"He  was  great;  that  is  much  better  than  being 
happy.  Cousine  II va  says  that  it  is  much  better." 

"  Would  you  rather  be  great  than  happy  ?" 

"I  should  have  to  think  about  that/7  replied 
Lotta.  "  I  do  not  always  wish  to  do  what  I  ought. 
But  then  to  be  great ! — to  have  one's  way  always !" 

"  To  be  great,"  said  Nadrovine,  "  means  never  to 
have  one's  way." 

Lotta  tried  to  subdue  the  incredulity  that  swept 
over  her  small  face  at  this  announcement. 

"  I  tell  you  what  I  should  like  to  be,"  she  said  at 
last,  waiving  the  subject.  "  I  should  like  to  have  an 
invisible  cap.  When  people  displeased  me,  I  would 
put  on  my  cap  and  serve  them  as  I  wished.  Oh,  the 
fun  that  I  would  have !  Oh,  the  droll  things  that 
I  would  do !  Oh  !"  She  drew  a  long  breath,  and 
tucked  Nicoletta  under  her  arm  in  order  to  clasp  her 
hands  ecstatically. 

"  What  sort  of  things  ?"  inquired  Nadrovine. 

"  Why,  for  instance,  when  mamma  took  me  to 
church  and  the  cure"  preached  too  long  a  sermon,  I 
would  pop  on  my  dear  little  cap,  and  steal  on  tiptoe 
behind  him,  and  pinch  his  nose  together  so  that  he 


70  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

would  sound  as  though  he  were  wheezing  through  a 
toy  trumpet.  Oh,  the  poor  man !  how  comical  he 
would  look  !  And  then  when  they  sought  me,  there 
I  would  be  as  still  as  a  mouse,  and  the  little  cap  in 
my  pocket.  Oh,  I  would  rather  have  that  than  the 
big  gold  cross  on  the  Madeleine,  and  a  queen's 
crown,  and  diamond  shoes,  and  live  dolls !  Cousine 
Ilva's  prince  wasn't  at  all  like  that,  though.  He 
was  of  a  great  dignity,  and  always  spoke  in  a  gentle 
voice,  and  called  people — the  princess,  I  mean — 
'  doushka.'  That  means  '  little  darling/  or  '  dear 
little  one.'  He  was  the  most  charming  creature. 
His  eyes  were  of  light,  and  his  hair  of  sunbeams, 
and  he  always  made  people  do  good  things  without 
looking  ridiculous.  That  is  so  difficult!"  She 
sighed,  and  smoothed  Nicoletta's  hair. 

"That  must  have  been  a  beautiful  story,"  said 
Nadrovine,  feeling  Ilva's  embarrassment  without 
looking  at  her,  and  hastening  to  change  the  subject. 
"  I  shall  try  and  get  your  cousin  to  tell  it  to  me 
some  day." 

"Oh,  I  am  sure  she  will,"  Lotta  assured  him. 
"Won't  you,  cousine  dearest?  You  would  tell  it 
now  if  we  begged  you,  would  you  not  ?" 

"  It  is  too  late.  The  story  is  too  long.  And 
there  !  there  is  Marie  beckoning  to  you." 

She  kissed  the  child  and  gave  her  a  gentle  push 
forward  towards  her  nurse,  after  waiting  for  her  to 
make  her  stately  adieux  to  Nadrovine. 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  71 

Miss  Herbert  was  sitting  with  her  fancy-work  on 
the  terrace,  and  looked  up  as  they  approached. 

"  Has  mamma  returned  ?"  asked  Ilva,  after  greet 
ings  had  been  interchanged.  "Is  Aunt  Cecilia  in 
the  drawing-room  ?" 

No ;  Madame  Boutry  was  still  lying  down,  with 
a  headache,  and  the  countess  had  not  returned. 

"  It  is  cooler  out  here,"  said  Ilva,  hesitating.  She 
did  not  wish  to  seem  to  dismiss  him,  and  yet  she 
shrank  from  forcing  herself  upon  him. 

"  Let  us  stay  outside,  by  all  means,"  replied  Na- 
drovine.  "  The  sunset  will  be  superb,  and  I  am  sure 
poor  Miss  Herbert  would  dislike  being  dragged  in 
doors." 

"  Shall  we  walk,  or  will  you  bring  chairs  ?" 

"  Let  us  walk,  if  you  are  not  tired." 

"Oh,  no!  I  am  only  tired  of  being  still.  I 
stooped  too  much  over  Lotta's  dolls.  It  has  made 
my  head  heavy.  It  will  be  delightful  to  walk." 

"  I  brought  your  book  with  me.  Shall  I  leave  it 
with  Miss  Herbert  ?  Or  perhaps  it  is  a  copy  that 
you  do  not  wish  to  remain  about  the  house.  I  had 
the  indiscretion  to  read  some  of  your  marginal  notes. 
You  will  forgive  me?  You  know  what  an  interest 
I  take  in  your  writing  ?" 

She  stood  looking  at  him,  stung  by  a  rush  of 
mingled  sensations. 

"How  presumptuous,  how  silly,  you  must  have 
thought  me  !"  she  exclaimed. 


72  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

"  Why,  no.  It  is  a  remarkable  bit  of  writing, 
— terse,  original.  If  you  are  not  displeased,  I  am. 
delighted  to  have  seen  it.  You  have  great  imagina 
tion." 

"Do  you  think  so?"  said  Ilva,  in  a  low  voice. 
Her  heart  seemed  to  shake  her  with  its  rapid  beat 
ing,  for  his  approval  or  disapproval  meant  much  to 
her. 

"Yes,  great  and  original,"  replied  Nadrovine. 
"You  will  let  me  see  some  of  your  manuscripts, 
will  you  not  ?" 

"  Some.  Perhaps.  They  are  very  badly  written. 
I  have  never  shown  them." 

"  I  wish  all  the  more  to  see  them." 

"  Do  you  ?"  said  the  girl,  for  want  of  a  better  re 
mark.  "  It  will  be  quite  a  task  to  read  them.  They 
are  written  on  both  sides  of  the  paper.  I  believe  that 
is  a  mistake." 

Nadrovine  was  regarding  her  side-face  as  they 
walked  up  and  down  together. 

"  You  are  very  serious  in  this,"  he  said.  "  It  is 
a  very  serious  thing  to  you,  is  it  not?" 

"  Very.  I  love  nothing  so  much.  I  cannot  im 
agine  life  without  it.  Do  not  encourage  me  to  talk, 
signor,  if  you  intend  laughing  at  me.  I  believe  that 
you  are  in  earnest,  but  I  have  no  past  experience 
by  which  to  judge.  I  have  never  spoken  of  this 
before  to  any  one." 

"  I  am  sure  you  do  not  think  that  I  would  laugh 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  73 

at  you/'  said  Nadrovine.  His  tone  convinced  her. 
She  drew  in  a  long  breath  of  relief,  and  let  it  escape 
softly,  that  it  might  not  sound  like  a  sigh. 

"  It  is  very  good  of  you  to  be  interested,"  she  said, 
in  a  restrained  voice.  "You  must  have  so  many 
people  talk  to  you  in  this  vein." 

"On  this  subject;  not  in  this  vein." 

"  There  are  so  many  things  that  I  should  like  to 
say  to  you,  I  do  not  know  which  to  say  first." 

"  I  hope  that  you  will  take  time  to  say  them  all, 
signorina.  Believe  me,  nothing  could  delight  me 
more." 

"  Oh,  but  there  will  not  be  time.  I  shall  not  see 
you  often  enough." 

She  paused,  feeling  that  she  had  said  something 
which  had  better  have  remained  unspoken.  She  was 
too  candid  to  try  and  escape  by  means  of  a  subter 
fuge,  and  stood  before  him  wordless,  and  too  over 
whelmed  to  do  more  than  control  her  expression  of 
dismay. 

"  I  suspect  you  will  see  me  oftener  than  you  have 
any  idea  of,"  said  Nadrovine,  with  ready  tact.  Her 
evident  confusion  was  as  delightful  to  him  as  the 
frankness  of  the  silence  which  admitted  it. 

"You  are  very,  very  good,"  replied  Ilva,  and 
paused  again. 

She  thought  hopelessly  of  the  conversations  that 
would  have  to  pass  between  them  before  she  could 
speak  to  him  without  embarrassment,  and  tilted 


74  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

her  fine  head  with  a  certain  air  of  restrained  eager 
ness. 

"  I  say  nothing  that  I  wish  !"  she  exclaimed,  im 
patiently.  And  then,  before  Nadrovine  could  correct 
her,  "  I  wish  to  tell  you  some  simple  thing,  and  I 
deliberately  say  something  else.  But  I  will  tell  you 
quickly,  before  my  tongue  runs  away  with  the  words, 
how  I  thank  you  for  your  good  words.  They  en 
courage  me.  They  are  much  to  me.  I  have  read 
all  your  books.  Herbert  has  them.  I  have  marked 
some  of  them  with  my  thumb-nail.  Herbert  will 
not  have  pencil-marks  in  her  books,  but  she  does  not 
notice  the  nail-marks.  Some  of  them  made  me 
breathe  as  though  I  had  been  running.  The  one 
where  they  take  away  poor  Sovosky's  dog  at  the 
Siberian  frontier,  and  one  of  the  soldiers  kicks  it, 
and  it  whines  and  tries  to  get  to  Sovosky,  and 
the  soldier  kicks  it  again  and  breaks  its  leg, — my 
face  stung  when  I  read  that.  I  hated  that  sol 
dier.  I  could  see  the  dog,  and  poor  Sovosky  with 
the  tears  freezing  on  his  face.  Tell  me,"  she 
continued,  eagerly,  "  did  you  ever  see  a  scene  like 
that  ?" 

Nadrovine  paused  a  moment  before  answering 
her,  looking  down  at  the  grass  between  them,  and 
her  high-curved  foot  sunk  into  its  soft  mat.  Then 
he  lifted  his  eyes  to  hers. 

"  My  father  is  in  Siberia,"  he  said. 

Ilva  pressed  her  hands  together,  feeling  the  same 


THE   WITNESS  OF   THE  SUN.  75 

hot  smarting  in  her  face  that  had  stung  her  when 
reading  of  Sovosky  and  his  dog. 

"  Siberia  ?     Your  father  ?     He  is  in  Siberia  ?" 

They  stood  in  silence,  looking  out  over  the  sea, 
where  in  swirls  of  citron  and  vermilion  a  few  sails 
were  dissolving  like  feathers  thrown  against  flame. 
Presently  she  said,  in  an  undertone, — 

"  I  do  thank  you  for  telling  me  that.  I  feel  it.  I 
feel  it  so  much  more  than  I  can  say.  I  cannot  say 
how  much." 

ft  I  can  feel  how  much,"  replied  Nadrovine. 

A  long,  narrow  veil  of  sea-blue  gauze  that  she 
held  over  her  arm  blew  out  and  clung  to  the  cloth 
of  his  sleeve.  It  was  like  a  visible  sign  of  the  airy 
thread  of  sympathy  and  confidence  connecting  them. 
He  could  have  kissed  it,  so  strongly  had  his  feeling 
for  the  girl  grown  in  this  short,  unlooked-for  inter 
view. 

"  You  must  not  think  that  I  told  you  this  to  harrow 
tip  your  feelings  and  make  you  sorry  for  me,  signo- 
rina.  To  be  true,  I  love  my  mother  best,  although 
I  always  looked  upon  my  father  with  an  almost  awed 
admiration.  It  will  explain  to  you  many  things  in 
my  books  which  might  otherwise  seem  unnecessarily 
bitter, — this  fact  of  my  father's  exile,  I  mean.  My 
mother  has  borne  it  more  bravely  than  I  have.  She 
is  very  wonderful.  You  will  like  each  other,  I  arn 
sure.  I  am  sure,  at  least,  that  she  will  like  you ; 
and  she  is  very  beautiful." 


76  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

"  If  she  will  let  me  like  her,"  said  Ilva,  hesitat 
ingly.  "The  friends  of  friends  are  so  apt  to  be 
enemies,  and  one's  mother  so  rarely  likes  the  people 
whom  one  is  fondest  of." 

"  My  mother  and  I  are  the  exceptions  that  prove 
your  rule,  signorina." 

"  You  always  agree  ?" 

"  We  have  never  yet  disagreed*" 

"And  she  is  beautiful?  Is  she  at  all  like  you? 
I  mean,  is  she  dark  or  fair?" 

"  She  has  ink-black  hair,  and  emerald  eyes,  and  a 
skin  like  milk.  She  is  nearly  as  tall  as  I  am, — too 
tall,  say  the  little  men  and  women.  She  is  five  foot 
ten,  supple  and  majestic,  and  with  such  a  sweet  voice." 

"  Oh,  one  does  not  care  whether  a  woman  is  tall 
or  short,  if  her  voice  is  sweet,"  said  Ilva.  "  Then 
you  must  be  like  your  father?  And  was  he  tall 
also?" 

"  Two  inches  taller  than  I  am.  You  will  think 
us  a  race  of  giants." 

"  How  lovely  she  must  be,  with  her  sweet  voice  !" 
sighed  the  girl.  "  I  do  not  wonder  that  you  worship 
her."  The  Countess  Demarini  was  short  and  rather 
stout,  and  her  voice,  when  she  took  the  trouble  to 
speak,  had  an  asthmatic  wheeze  that  gave  way  occa 
sionally  to  a  complaining  whine. 

"You  have  her  picture?"  continued  Ilva,  a  little 
shyly. 

"  Yes, — two  miniatures, — one  in  her  Russian  dress, 


THE  WITNESS   OF   THE  SUN.  77 

one  in  a  black  satin  gown.  If  you  would  like  to  see 
them " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Ilva,  "  please." 

Nadrovine  took  out  his  watch,  opened  it,  and  held 
it  towards  her.  The  face  that  she  saw  enthralled 
her.  It  was  of  a  long,  oval  contour,  clearly  pale, 
save  for  the  scarlet  of  the  full,  round  lips,  sur 
mounted  by  night-colored  hair,  and  made  brilliant 
with  dark-green  eyes  slightly  prominent  under  thick, 
heavily-curved  lids.  The  nose  was  short  and  well 
cut,  the  ears  symmetrically  placed  and  clasping  closely 
the  small,  self-possessed  head,  the  forehead  high, 
boldly  modelled,  shaded  by  a  few  short  curls  melting 
into  a  violetish  haze  at  the  temples. 

The  pretty  Russian  head-dress  set  with  pearls 
and  emeralds  brought  out  vividly  the  tones  of  this 
charming  face. 

"  How  very  beautiful !  How  you  must  love 
her  !"  cried  Ilva.  "  And  how  young  she  looks  !" 

"Yes,"  replied  Nadrovine,  also  gazing  at  the 
miniature  in  the  young  girl's  palm,  a  she  has  a  re 
markable  appearance  for  her  age.  That  miniature 
was  painted  only  two  years  ago ;  and  she  looks  no 
older  now.  I  am  glad  that  we  agree  in  this  instance 
as  well  as  in  many  others,  signoriua.  I  will  tell  my 
mother  of  your  approval.  She  is  coming  shortly  to 
Italy  to  spend  the  rest  of  this  year  with  me." 

Ilva  turned  on  him  her  wide,  clear  gaze. 

"  Then  I  may  see  her ;  we  may  know  each  other. 
7* 


78  THE  WITNESS   OF   THE  SUN. 

But  I  am  afraid  that  young  girls  bore  a  woman  like 
Madame  Nad ro vine." 

"Perhaps,"  said  Nadrovine.  "You  would  not 
bore  her." 

"  Ah,  but  how  can  you  tell  ?" 

"  We  agree  so  perfectly." 

Ilva  looked  once  more  at  the  miniature  that  she 
held,  and  then  returned  him  his  watch.  It  was 
warm  with  her  hand,  and  he  kept  it  in  his  own 
for  a  minute  or  two.  The  western  light  was  in  her 
eyes  and  on  her  hair,  and  a  sweep  of  mystic  rose- 
gray  throbbed  behind  her.  She  was  still  looking  at 
him. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  how  kind  I  think  you  for  the 
interest  that  you  have  shown  in  my  work,  in  my 
wish  to  work,"  she  said,  rapidly.  "I  know  how 
very,  very  pale  my  hopes  and  ambitions  must  seem 
to  you, — to  you  who  have  accomplished  so  much. 
I  do  not  wish  to  say  too  much,  to  be  what  Herbert 
calls  '  gushing/  but  I  do  wish  you  to  know  that  I 
appreciate  all  that  you  have  said  to  me  of  kindness 
and  encouragement." 

"  It  is  you  who  have  been  kind  to  me,"  replied 
Nadrovine. 

"But  the  whole  world  is  kind  to  you.  It  is 
nothing  for  one  unknown  person  to  like  what  you 
write,  and  it  is  everything  for  me, — your  approval, 
I  mean.  I  shall  work  so  hard  now.  I  seem  to  feel 
a  new  zest :  I  am  already  longing  to  get  my  pen  in 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  79 

my  fingers.  I  may  have  something  that  I  shall  not 
feel  ashamed  to  show  you,  after  all." 

"  I  shall  wish  to  see  whatever  you  have  written. 
Believe  me,  I  speak  honestly." 

"  Ah,  well,  I  cannot  destroy  your  ideal  of  my 
power  by  doing  anything  so  rash  as  that,"  said  II va. 
She  laughed  a  little,  and  drew  the  dim  blue  veil 
about  her  head  and  throat.  He  thought  that  her 
eyes  must  be  like  the  eyes  of  Pandora  before  she 
had  opened  her  box.  "  Perhaps  she  too  picked  the 
lock  with  a  pen,"  he  reflected. 

"  There  is  one  thing  that  I  must  tell  you  before 
I  go,"  he  said,  suddenly.  "  You  will  think  me  trite, 
and  possibly  morbid."  , 

"What  is  it?  Say  it,"  returned  the  girl,  with 
her  eager  imperiousness. 

"  It  is  this  :  that  writing  is  a  hard  art.  One  has 
to  suffer, — especially  a  woman, — especially  a  woman 
who  has  the  courage  of  her  opinions." 

"  That  means  that  you  think  I  have  the  courage 
of  mine,  does  it  not,  signer  ?" 

"  I  do  think  so,  assuredly." 

"But/then,  if  I  am  willing  to  suffer?" 

"  We  are  all  willing  to  suffer  as  long  as  suffering 
means  a  vague  pain  which  does  not  disturb  our  poise, 
or  individuality,  or  surroundings.  Ask  yourself  how 
you  could  bear  to  part  with  one  of  your  hands." 

She  lifted  one  of  her  delicate  hands,  held  it  be 
tween  herself  and  the  fading  sunset,  and  hesitated. 


30  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

'l  The  idea  of  being  maimed  is  always  so  horrible." 

"  There  are  worse  things  than  losing  one's  hand, 
doushka." 

"What  is  worse?" 

"  To  have  the  eye  of  the  public  always  at  one's 
key-hole.  A  man  might  go  mad  for  that,  thrust  his 
pen  through  the  opening  and  put  it  out,  and  so  have 
no  readers  for  his  manuscripts.  The  sensation  of 
being  eternally  pried  upon, — there  is  nothing  much 
worse  than  that ;  and  that  is  the  penalty." 

They  were  silent  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  Ilva 
said,  with  a  gentle  dignity, — 

"  I  will  remember.     I  thank  you  for  telling  me." 

She  turned,  and  Nadrovine  followed  her  to  the 
piazza,  before  which  the  Countess  Demarini's  carriage 
had  just  stopped. 

VII. 

Nadrovine  was  candid  enough  with  himself  to 
acknowledge,  as  he  drove  back  to  his  lodgings,  that 
he  was  interested  in  the  girl  to  an  absorbing  degree. 
She  had  for  him,  in  contrast  to  all  other  handsome 
women  who  had  attracted  him,  that  subtle  charm 
which  one  only  recognizes  after  one  has  yielded  to  its 
spell.  She  seemed  to  him  as  graciously  and  serenely 
pure  as  her  own  eyes,  and  as  vivid  in  her  unusual 
naturalness  as  their  changing  lights.  It  was  perhaps 
— or  rather  probably — the  fact  of  her  mother's  being 
an  American  that  gave  her  the  untrammelled  grace 
of  gesture  and  expression  which  so  delighted  him, 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  gl 

and  she  had  evidently  been  without  guidance  save 
that  which  the  long-suffering  Herbert  had  ventured 
to  exercise.  He  was  also  keenly  conscious  of  the 
subtle  flattery  contained  in  the  disclosures  of  Made 
moiselle  Lotta.  He  had  evidently  been  the  hero  of 
all  the  young  girl's  day-dreams.  She  had  thought 
of  him  constantly,  and  he  represented  to  her  the 
entire  world  of  men.  Nadrovine  had  always  cher 
ished  an  aversion  to  marriage.  He  felt  this  aversion 
melting  away  as  he  fancied  those  quiet  eyes  trans 
formed  and  wavering  with  the  love-light  that  he 
should  have  kindled,  those  lips  so  placid  and  undis 
turbed  in  their  delicate  curves  trembling  with  words 
of  confession.  He  did  not  realize  how  intensely  her 
individuality  had  impressed  him,  until  in  his  conjec 
tures  he  found  himself  wondering  what  type  of  man 
would  finally  win  and  marry  her.  He  shrunk  from 
it  as  sensitively-organized  people  will  sometimes 
shrink  from  throwing  a  flower  into  the  fire.  There 
was  no  man  of  whom  he  could  think  as  husband  to 
that  slender,  Psyche-faced  child  without  a  shudder  of 
revulsion  and  apprehension ;  for  he  was  one  of  the  few 
men  who  recognize  that  a  woman  may  be  married 
while  her  soul  remains  un wedded,  and  that  the  fate 
of  the  victims  of  the  Minotaur  was  preferable  to  this. 
He  realized  that  the  only  love  to  which  such  a  woman 
would  yield  would  have  to  be  as  supreme  in  its  rev 
erence  as  in  its  fire,  a  white  flame,  still,  pure,  and  ever- 
ascending.  Her  dreams  would  be  a  man's  only  rival ; 


82  THE  WITNESS   OF  THE  SUN. 

but  then  few  have  ever  estimated  the  force  in  the 
rivalry  of  an  ideal.  The  man  who  is  measured  by  a 
woman's  imagined  lover  is  far  less  fortunate  than  the 
man  who  has  to  deal  with  an  actual  being.  Nadro- 
vine  recognized  all  this ;  but  underneath  and  ever 
present  was  that  consciousness  of  having  dominated 
those  girlish  dreams,  of  having  figured  as  "The 
Prince  of  the  Silver  Book." 

He  was  often  at  the  Villa  Demarini  during  the 
next  fortnight.  Sometimes  he  would  see  Ilva,  gener 
ally  in  the  presence  of  her  mother  and  Miss  Herbert ; 
while  once  or  twice  he  had  the  good  fortune  to  find 
her  alone  with  Lotta  among  the  ruins  of  the  little 
temple  on  the  hill.  She  finally  consented  to  show 
him  one  or  two  of  her  manuscripts,  and  he  was  singu 
larly  haunted  by  them, — vigorous  original  essays  and 
poems,  decidedly  ungirlish  in  their  handling  of  sub 
jects  which  she  could  only  have  imagined.  He  saw 
that  there  was  genius  throbbing  under  the  crude 
richness  of  language  and  ideas,  and  told  her  so. 
She  did  not  say  much,  but  the  look  in  her  eyes  was 
sufficient.  He  was  beginning  to  tire  of  seeing  only 
gratitude  and  appreciation  in  those  clear  eyes.  She 
seemed  made  for  love, — the  love  of  a  man  who  has 
recognized -that  God  created  him  for  one  woman  and 
who  has  lived  his  life  with  a  view  to  their  ultimate 
meeting.  Nadrovine  had  so  lived  his  life,  and  the 
girl  was  growing  inexpressibly  dear  to  him. 

He  had  the  good  fortune  to  find  himself  beside 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  83 

her  on  horseback  late  one  afternoon  in  June.  They 
were  on  their  way  with  Miss  Herbert,  Lotta,  and 
her  two  brothers  to  visit  an  old  castle  belonging  to 
a  cousin  of  Count  Demarini,  a  haunted  place  which 
boasted  murders  and  blood-stains,  and,  best  of  all 
in  the  eyes  of  the  two  boys,  underground  dungeons 
with  great  stone  doors.  They  were  wild  to  inspect 
these  gloomy  places,  and  chattered  of  them  all  the 
way  over. 

"  What  strange  creatures  boys  are  I"  said  Ilva  to 
Nadrovine.  "  They  seem  to  delight  in  all  sorts  of 
cruel,  grewsome  things !" 

She  was  dressed  in  an  English  riding-habit,  sit 
ting  square  and  straight  on  her  neat  hunting-saddle, 
and  riding  a  handsome  chestnut  with  one  white  hind 
stocking  and  a  star  between  his  eyes. 

"  I  confess  that  I  don't  like  boys,"  she  added, 
pausing  as  though  to  wait  for  his  expression  of  dis 
approval. 

"  Sometimes  one  finds  a  boy  whom  one  loves/' 
replied  Nadrovine,  "  but  it  is  very  rare.  The  two 
little  animals  in  front  are  very  pretty,  with  their  blue 
eyes  and  blond  hair,  but  they  are  little  animals  for 
all  that." 

"So  different  from  Lotta.  She  is  like  a  sweet 
fairy,"  said  Ilva.  "  And  how  deliciously  she  man 
ages  her  pony  !  One  wants  to  take  her,  pony  and 
all,  into  one's  arms." 

"  She  adores  vou." 


84  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

"  Yes ;  she  has  a  great  ideal  of  me.  I  fear  for 
her  when  it  is  dispelled.  It  takes  a  great  deal  of 
self-control  to  live  up  to  a  child's  ideal  of  one." 

"  Or  a  woman's/'  said  Nadrovine. 

"  Do  you  think  that  many  women  have  ideals  of 
men,  nowadays,  Signer  Nadrovine?  I  know  very 
few  women,  but  those  that  I  do  know  seem  to  me 
hardly  to  do  men  justice." 

"  That  is  perhaps  the  reason,  signorina,  why  we  do 
not  live  more  nobly.  We  know  that  most  women 
do  not  expect  it  of  us." 

She  turned  on  him  her  frank  smile  and  the  glow 
of  her  believing  look. 

"  Why  do  you  say  such  things,  except  in  your 
books  ?  I  know  that  you  have  lived  nobly." 

"  I  was  only  speaking  of  men  as  a  class.  I  have 
had  my  mother's  belief  in  me  to  live  up  to.  I  owe 
much — nearly  everything — to  my  mother." 

"  She  must  deserve  your  worship,  signer." 

"  You  will  think  so  indeed  when  you  know  her. 
I  expect  her  next  week.  I  am  like  a  lover  await 
ing  his  lady, — as  restless  and  nervous  as  a  boy." 

"  It  must  be  almost  divine  to  a  mother  to  have  such 
a  love,"  said  the  girl.  "  It  is  the  most  beautiful  love 
of  all.  Do  you  not  think  so  ?" 

"  No,  signorina." 

"  You  do  not  ?"  She  flushed  a  little,  but  asked  her 
question  bravely. 

"  No,  doushka ;  there  is  one  love  which,  when  it  is 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  85 

as  God  meant  it  to  be,  is  more  godlike  than  any  on 
earth.  The  love  of  Christ  for  the  Church  is  not 
compared  to  the  love  of  a  father  for  his  child." 

"No?"  said  Ilva.  She  could  control  her  voice, 
but  not  the  violent  leaping  of  her  heart. 

"  Can't  we  ride  faster  ?"  here  called  Miss  Herbert, 
who,  unlike  most  Englishwomen,  did  not  ride  well, 
disliked  a  trot,  and  was  only  happy  when  cantering. 
"  We  can  see  nothing  of  the  castle  before  sundown  if 
we  do  not  hurry." 

"  There  will  be  a  moon,"  said  Nadrovine  under 
his  breath. 

His  heart  was  beating  rapidly  also,  and  he  wished 
poor  Herbert  in  'many  an  unpleasant  place. 

"  Yes,  nearly  a  full  moon,"  said  Ilva.  They  set 
their  horses  in  a  gallop  and  soon  overtook  and 
repassed  the  others. 

"  How  you  would  enjoy  a  ride  over  the  steppe !" 
said  Nad ro vine,  as  they  drew  rein.  "  I  can  see  you 
on  a  black  Russian  horse  with  your  hair  loose." 

"  Oh  !  oh  !"  said  Ilva,  relieved  at  finding  an  excuse 
to  laugh.  "  One  never  rides  with  loosened  hair  ex 
cept  in  Perrault's  fairy-tales.  Fancy  how  slovenly 
one  would  look  in  a  top-hat  with  one's  hair  flying  !" 

"  I  was  thinking  of  the  contrast  between  the  horse's 
mane  and  your  hair.  You  have  such  wonderful  hair. 
It  is  like  a  little  child's,  and  it  is  so  thick.  It  must 
weigh  your  arms  down  to  comb  it  out." 

"  Ah  !  here  we  are  at  the  gate,"  said  Ilva.  "  What 
8 


86  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

hideous  stone  griffins  !  but  the  gate  itself  is  beauti 
ful." 

"  There  are  three  more  miles  through  the 
grounds,"  called  Miss  Herbert.  "  We  must  hurry, 
my  dear !" 

They  galloped  up  to  the  door  of  the  castle.  It 
was  a  great  square  pile,  draped  with  vines,  and  sur 
rounded  by  huge  cedars  and  olive-trees.  They  were 
shown  over  it  by  the  cicerone,  a  withered  creature 
with  dull  eyes  and  an  even  duller  mind.  He  had 
not  a  word  to  say,  but  threw  open  doors  on  gloom 
and  beauty  alike  with  the  same  unvarying  stolidity 
of  countenance. 

They  were  retiring  rather  disappointed  with  their 
jaunt,  when  Victor  and  Georges  precipitated  them 
selves  at  the  same  time  upon  Miss  Herbert,  crying, 
"  The  dungeons  !  the  dungeons  !  We  must  see  the 
dungeons !" 

«  \\rell »  sai(j  Migg  Herbert,  weakly. 

"  Do  you  care  about  it  ?"  Nadrovine  asked  Ilva. 

"Now  that  we  are  here,  we  might  as  well  see 
them,"  she  replied;  "and  the  boys  seem  beside 
themselves." 

It  was  therefore  decided  that  they  should  visit 
the  dungeons.  Pietro,  the  cicerone,  arranged  a  very 
mediaeval-looking  torch  in  a  species  of  iron  cup,  and 
prepared  to  lead  the  way. 

"  Why  don't  you  take  a  lantern  ?"  asked  Nadro- 
vine. 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  87 

"We  have  no  lanterns,  Excellency/'  replied  the 
automaton. 

"  Then  a  candle  or  a  lamp  ?" 

"  Candles  and  lamps  blow  out,  Excellency." 

"  In  that  case,  your  idea  of  the  torch  is  capital," 
said  Nadrovine,  dryly;  and  they  all  laughed, — all 
except  Pietro,  who  descended  the  narrow  stairways 
like  a  statue  in  motion,  with  no  expression  on  his 
face  whatever,  either  of  amusement  or  distaste. 

There  were  four  of  these  underground  cells,  each 
damper  and  more  slimy  than  the  last.  The  mud 
seemed  to  be  at  least  an  inch  thick  on  the  soggy 
floors,  and  the  slime  clung  in  ropes  to  the  trickling 
walls. 

"  Let  us  go  in,  just  to  say  we  have  been  in,"  urged 
the  boys  ;  and  so  all  six  went  and  stood  in  the 
hideous  place,  shrinking  involuntarily  from  the  coated 
roof  and  sides.  The  doors  were  of  stone  a  foot  thick. 

No  one  spoke. 

"  Three  men  were  starved  to  death  in  there,  so  it 
is  said,"  droned  the  cicerone,  giving  voice  to  his  first 
remark.  He  would  not  enter,  but  stood  just  with 
out,  thrusting  his  torch  back  and  forth  and  waving 
it  about  to  give  them  a  full  view  of  the  horrors  which 
surrounded  them.  They  started.  It  seemed  almost 
like  the  utterance  of  a  ghost.  The  only  unimpressed 
beings  were  the  two  boys,  who  flitted  in  and  out  like 
will-o'-the-wisps,  their  fair  hair  seeming  to  catch  fire 
from  the  fitful  torch-light. 


88  THE  WITNESS   OF  THE  SUN. 

VIII. 

No  one  could  quite  tell  how  it  happened.  There 
seemed  to  be  a  sudden  scuffle,  a  sharp  cry  from  Pietro. 
The  torch  fell  hissing  in  the  mud  just  beyond  the 
great  door,  and  the  door  itself  closed  with  a  heavy 
jar.  Everything  at  once  became  quiet.  No  sound 
reached  them  from  the  outside.  In  the  ooze  of  the 
floor  the  great  knot  of  resinous  wood  lay  sputtering 
and  sending  up  a  heavy  coil  of  smoke.  The  faces 
of  the  four  who  were  shut  in  were  seen  wide-eyed 
and  strained  in  the  dull  glow.  Miss  Herbert  drew 
Lotta  up  into  her  arms  and  pressed  the  child's  face 
down  upon  her  shoulder. 

"  Victor !  Georges  !"  cried  Nadrovine,  "  open  at 
once I" 

He  struck  the  stone  with  his  hands.  No  grave 
was  ever  more  silent  than  the  place  into  which  they 
had  been  shut.  The  fallen  torch  smoked  on  slowly 
to  its  final  spark,  and  the  cell  was  filled  with  the 
tarry  smoke.  Then  a  thick,  soundless  darkness 
closed  about  them.  Lotta  began  to  sob  in  a  nervous 
ecstasy  of  fear. 

Ilva  felt  Nadrovine  close  at  her  side,  though  he 
did  not  touch  her. 

"  I  am  not  afraid,"  she  said,  before  he  could  speak. 
"  Shall  we  have  to  wait  long  ?" 

"  I  cannot  tell,"  he  replied.  "  Those  little " 

he  addressed  some  terms  to  the  sportive  young 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  89 

Boutrys  between  his  closed  teeth.  "They  should 
be  soundly  flogged,"  he  ended.  "I  fear  you  will 
take  a  horrible  cold  in  this  vile  den.  Wait  a 
moment.'' 

Ilva  felt  something  soft  thrust  under  her  feet ;  she 
trod  upon  it  with  a  smile  which  seemed  strangely 
unnecessary  in  that  thick  blackness. 

"  Is  it  not  drier  ?  You  do  not  feel  the  damp  so 
much  ?"  inquired  Nadrovine,  anxiously. 

She  said,  "  No.     I  thank  you  so  very  much." 

Lotta  went  on  sobbing,  and  the  sound  was  almost 
a  relief  to  them. 

There  passed  what  seemed  to  them  a  long  time. 

"I  have  some  matches,"  said  Nadrovine.  He 
struck  them  one  after  another  until  they  were  all 
gone,  and  looked  at  his  watch. 

It  had  been  only  four  minutes  since  they  were 
locked  into  the  cell. 

"  This  is  terrible !"  cried  Miss  Herbert,  shrilly. 
"  What  can  have  happened  ?  I  will  see  that  those 
boys  have  a  just  punishment, — a  severe  caning." 

"  And  I !"  said  Nadrovine,  grimly.  They  felt 
that  Miss  Herbert  nodded  approval  before  again 
bestowing  her  attention  on  the  frightened  Lotta. 

The  minutes  slowly  passed.  Ilva  could  hear  the 
loud  ticking  of  Nadrovine's  watch  in  the  dense 
silence,  and  it  seemed  strange  that  it  should  con 
tinue  on  its  way  so  calmly, — as  strange  as  that 
the  rich  Italian  sky  swept  cloudless  overhead,  and 


90  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

that  the  fair  afternoon  moved  on  to  night  uninter 
rupted. 

"  I  can't  understand  why  they  do  not  let  us  out 
at  once,"  said  Ilva,  finally.  "  Do  you  suppose  that 
the  cicerone  does  not  know  how  to  open  the  door  ?" 

"  It  may  not  have  been  shut  for  many  years," 
replied  Nadrovine.  "  He  may  not  understand  how 
to  unclose  it.  Are  you  cold  ?  I  seem  to  feel  that 
you  are  shivering." 

"  You  felt  that  ?  How  strange  !  I  was  shiver 
ing  ;  but  I  am  not  cold.  After  all,  it  is  a  grewsome 
feeling,  being  shut  into  a  place  like  this." 

Involuntarily  they  spoke  in  whispers  and  drew 
nearer  to  each  other.  Nadrovine  was  standing  be 
tween  Ilva  and  Miss  Herbert,  and  put  his  hand  on 
Lotta's  little  head  to  reassure  her  while  he  spoke. 

"  It  cannot  last  more  than  ten  minutes  longer, 
at  the  utmost,"  he  said.  "  Evidently  the  cicerone 
has  gone  to  get  aid  of  some  kind.  You  must  have 
conquered  both  Victor  and  Georges  at  fencing  this 
morning,  mademoiselle,  to  cause  such  spite." 

"I  f-f-fenced  with  Georges,"  sobbed  Lotta,  "and 
b-b-broke  his  f-foil,  and  then  I  made  V- Victor 
angry  b-by  saying  he  would  be  a  s-s-sneak  if  he 
told — if  he  t-told  M-m-aman  when  Georges  pushed 
me.  Oh,  will  it  be  long,  m'sieu  ?  Please  hold  my 
other  hand.  Please  hold  me  very  tight,  Mees  Her 
bert.  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  a  story  about  light 
places,  and  sunshine,  and  bright  blue  and  pink 


THE  WITNESS  OF   THE  SUN.  91 

flowers  !  It  will  help  me  to  compose  myself.  You 
know  truly  I  believe  myself  to  be  dreaming."  She 
fell  into  nervous  sobbing  again,  and  buried  her  head 
in  Miss  Herbert's  shoulder. 

"  If  one  had  only  brought  one's  goloshes  !"  mur 
mured  that  patient  creature.  "  But,  then,  how  could 
one  imagine  such  a  contingency?  Hush,  hush,  my 
dear  child  !  I  will  tell  you  a  story,  if  you  will  only 
listen."  She  went  off  into  a  long,  rambling  narrative 
in  which  she  and  her  four  brothers  and  sisters  all 
'played  conspicuous  parts. 

"  You  are  still  shivering.  I  am  sure  that  you 
must  be  cold,"  said  Nadrovine.  "  You  are  too  near 
that  damp  wall."  He  put  out  his  hand  to  ascertain 
her  position,  and  it  came  in  contact  with  her  soft  hair. 

"  If  you  would  lean  on  me !"  he  said,  in  a  low 
voice. 

He  found  the  slight,  ungloved  hand  and  drew  it 
through  his  arm.  "How  you  tremble,  my  poor 
child  !"  he  whispered.  "  This  will  have  a  terrible 
effect  on  you." 

She  did  not  answer  at  once,  and  then  said  finally, 
in  a  low  voice,  "  I  am  glad  that  you  are  here.  I  feel 
safe." 

"  Doushka  !"  he  whispered,  in  an  indescribable 
tone. 

Ilva  felt  that  a  tremor  ran  through  him  also.  She 
strove  to  control  herself. 

"  I — I  think  if  only  Miss  Herbert  and  Lotta  and 


92  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

I  had  been  shut  into  this  dungeon,  that  I  should  have 
suffered  a  great  deal.  I  think  of  all  sorts  of  horrors. 
I  seem  to  feel  those  starving  wretches  crawling  and 
cursing  in  the  mud  at  my  feet." 

She  felt  herself  drawn  closer  to  him,  a  perceptible, 
imperious  movement. 

"  You  are  not  afraid  with  me  ?" 

"No." 

"  You  trust  me  ? — you  believe  in  me  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  You  feel  that  I  would  stand  between  you  and  all 
evil?" 

There  was  a  pause,  and  then  she  said,  clearly, — 

"  I  feel  that." 

"  Ilva  !"  said  Nadrovine.  She  felt  his  arms  close 
around  her.  She  did  not  repulse  him.  His  lips 
rested  against  her  forehead,  and  all  the  darkness 
seemed  to  press  in  golden  throbbings  against  her 
closed  lids. 

She  stood  locked  in  his  arms,  wordless,  for  a  long 
while.  They  could  hear  Miss  Herbert  droning  out 
her  chronicles  of  Matilda  and  Alfred  and  John  and 
Charlotte  and  their  troubles  with  their  kitchen-gar 
dens,  and  how  they  were  paid  fourpence  for  every 
turnip  that  they  brought  to  perfection,  and  sixpence 
for  every  carrot,  and  how  they  discovered  a  new 
species  of  rose  by  mixing  the  seeds,  and  how  they 
made  enough  money  by  it  to  purchase  a  brass  lecturn 
for  a  gift  to  their  father  on  Michaelmas,  etc.,  etc.,  etc. 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  93 

Ilva  felt  sure  that  Lotta  was  right  and  that  they 
were  all  dreaming.  Those  quivering  lips  on  her  fore 
head  were  the  only  real  things  in  this  chaos  of  un- 
usualness  and  living  gloom. 

As  for  Nadrovine,  the  past  seemed  to  have  broken 
in  a  mighty  wave  on  the  shore  of  the  present,  and  to 
have  left  him  stranded  there.  All  his  ideas  and 
theories  of  the  last  ten  years  were  no  more  in  this 
surge  of  emotion  than  shells  and  strips  of  sea-weed 
on  the  actual  sea.  He  knew  that  to  clasp  in  his  arms 
this  fragile  piece  of  girlhood,  feeling  her  content  to 
be  there,  was  sufficient,  and  that  the  hope  of  sealing, 
on  some  future  day,  her  pure  and  sensitive  lips  with 
his,  held  for  him  more  possibilities  of  joy  than  were 
contained  in  the  cup  of  fame  pressed  down  and  run 
ning  over.  He  loved  her  as  women  should  pray 
Heaven  to  be  loved, — with  a  keen  recognition  of  all 
the  traits  that  he  did  not  himself  possess,  and  a  de 
termination  to  consider  them  most  when  he  under 
stood  them  least, — with  a  reverence  as  intense  as  it 
was  sincere  for  the  child  in  her,  which  is  part  of  every 
complete  woman,  old  or  young,  an  absolute  belief  in 
her  delicacy  of  soul  and  body,  an  adoration  of  her 
very  self  and  spirit,  which  constrained  him  rather  to 
imagine  the  love  as  seen  in  her  eyes  than  as  felt  on 
her  lips,  and  an  awe  for  her  purity  which  made  him 
think  that,  while  as  her  lover  he  might  dare  to  caress 
her  mouth,  as  her  husband  he  would  only  venture 
to  kiss  the  utmost  edge  of  her  garments. 


94  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

In  a  few  moments  more  the  door  was  opened  for 
them. 

It  was  as  Nadrovine  had  thought:  the  cicerone 
had  had  to  procure  the  aid  of  two  other  servants  be 
fore  he  could  move  the  heavy  block  of  stone.  Victor 
and  Georges  were  scampering  homeward,  in  dismay 
at  what  they  had  done. 

Nadrovine  and  Ilva  rode  forth  beneath  a  sky  which 
seemed  to  float  like  a  golden  bubble  above  them, — a 
bubble  blown  upward  from  the  great  bowl  of  the 
earth  which  hollowed  to  the  horizon.  The  pines 
seemed  dripping  with  sherry. 

"  They  are  like  green  beards  of  Tritons  drenched 
in  wine,"  said  Ilva,  fancifully,  as  if  speaking  to  her 
self. 

Miss  Herbert,  urged  by  wrath,  had  for  once  con 
quered  her  fears,  and  had  ridden  ahead  at  a  smart 
gallop  to  overtake  and  lecture  the  two  culprits. 
Lotta  at  her  heels  on  her  Polo  pony  forced  the 
pace,  and  they  were  both  soon  beyond  sight  and 
hearing. 

Ilva,  feeling  Nadrovine's  eyes  upon  her,  moved 
uneasily  in  the  saddle. 

"  Doushka,  give  me  your  hand,"  he  said,  at  last. 

She  put  it,  palm  up,  in  his. 

"  Do  you  give  it  to  me  really,  my  shy  one  ?  Is  it 
mine  to  do  with  as  I  like  ?" 

She  could  not  trust  herself  to  speak,  but  made  a 
downward  movement  of  assent  with  her  chin. 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  95 

"  Then  first,"  said  Nadrovine,  raising  it  to  his  lips, 
"  this,  and  afterwards — this."  He  drew  a  ring  from 
his  own  hand  and  pushed  it  firmly  to  the  base  of  her 
slight  finger,  saying,  in  a  low  voice, — 

"With  this  ring  I  seal  thee  to  me.  Thou  art 
mine,  my  betrothed,  my  promised." 

She  trembled,  and  he  released  her  hand. 

"  Will  you  see  if  you  can  read  the  motto  cut  in  the 
stone,  doushka  ?"  he  asked,  after  a  long  pause.  "  The 
light  is  fading,  but  the  letters  are  very  clearly  cut. 
Try." 

She  held  her  hand  towards  the  mellow  tremble 
overhead,  and  read  aloud,  falteringly, — 

"'Esto  sol  testis.'  It  is  Latin,  is  it  not?  I  do 
not  understand  Latin  well.  What  is  the  meaning?" 

"  '  Let  the  sun  be  a  witness/  "  replied  Nadrovine. 
"Let  a  man  strive  to  keep  his  life  so  clean  and 
without  reproach  that  the  sun  can  search  its  every 
cranny  without  bringing  unwholesome  or  ugly  facts 
to  light.  It  is  not  the  family  motto.  It  is  the 
motto  that  I  selected  for  myself  and  had  cut  in  that 
sapphire  when  I  was  a  boy  of  fourteen.  I  wish 
you  to  wear  it  now  and  share  it  with  me." 

He  smiled,  and,  stooping,  kissed  the  ring  as  it 
lay  like  a  drop  of  blue  sea-water  upon  her  pale 
hand.  "  I  wish  the  sun  to  be  a  witness  to  my  love 
for  you." 

"  Oh !"  said  the  girl,  dropping  her  reins  and 
placing  both  hands  against  her  throat. 


96  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

The  horses  had  stopped  together  on  the  crest  of  a 
little  hill. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Nadrovine,  quickly. 

"  Nothing.  I  love  you  so !"  She  leaned  towards 
him,  holding  out  her  arms.  Her  eyes  dwelt  full 
and  clear  upon  his.  He  bent  to  her,  and  she  pressed 
his  head  against  her  for  a  moment,  looking  out  over 
it  into  the  red  ball  of  the  sinking  sun  that  he  had 
invoked  to  witness  their  betrothal.  It  seemed  to 
her  as  though  she  were  gazing  through  a  flaming 
orifice  straight  to  the  core  of  heaven.  Her  heart 
was  a  prayer  within  her.  It  would  have  been 
almost  a  sacrilege  to  form  words  with  her  lips  at 
that  unspeakable  moment. 

They  rode  on  in  silence  for  a  long  while,  until 
the  last  fires  of  the  splendid,  cloudless  sunset  were 
blotted  out  by  the  soft  gloom  of  twilight  gray  as  a 
moth's  wing.  The  green  lights  of  the  first  few  stars 
shone  down  upon  them  through  the  rich  haze,  like 
glow-worms  seen  through  a  vast  cobweb.  Overhead 
was  the  sound  of  the  wind  in  the  pines  and  the  call 
of  the  nightingales.  The  night  opened  about  them 
like  a  great  flower  sleepy  with  perfume.  They 
seemed  folded  in  its  warm  petals, — a  part  of  it, — 
as  content  as  the  small  creatures  that  live  in  roses. 
He  held  her  hand,  and  her  life  seemed  flowing  into 
his  through  that  close  clasp.  He  could  not  believe 
in  a  time  when  this  proud  sense  of  ownership,  of 
duality,  had  not  possessed  him.  The  great,  glorious, 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  97 

changing,  growing  night  seemed  without  meaning 
save  as  a  setting  for  that  young  creature  at  his  side, 
with  her  hair  which  seemed  woven  of  the  spiritual 
ized  sunlight  which  one  sees  in  dreams,  and  her  eyes 
which  seemed  to  hold  all  shadows  and  light,  all  love 
and  pain,  in  their  serene  depths. 

He  felt  that  even  pain  with  her  would  be  out 
wardly  a  calm  thing,  a  great  stillness,  as  her  love 
was  now.  But  she  spoke  to  him  presently. 

"I  seem  to  have  belonged  to  you  always,"  she 
said,  with  her  beautiful  candor.  "  I  seem  only  to 
have  a  right  to  myself  through  you.  Your  love 
makes  me  glad  to  be  myself;  because  if  I  had  been 
any  one  else,  no  matter  how  great  or  good,  you 
would  not  have  loved  me,  and  your  love  is  best. 
No,  no :  you  must  not  speak ;  you  must  not  con 
tradict  me.  Just  let  me  say  what  is  in  my  heart. 
I  feel  that  what  is  there  must  run  into  your  heart 
like  a  stream  into  the  great  sea.  It  is  wonderful  to 
think  that  I  have  your  love, — I  out  of  the  world ! 
It  is  as  though  a  great  star  were  to  concentrate  its 
light  all  on  some  little  flower,  and  say,  f  I  will  shine 
only  for  this  flower  that  I  love.'  It  is  as  though 
some  high  one  in  heaven  were  to  refuse  to  sing  in 
the  great  choir,  that  his  voice  might  be  heard  only 
in  the  dreams  of  some  poor  woman  upon  earth 
whom  he  loved  and  waited  for.  Ah,  do  not  inter 
rupt  me !  It  is  so  big  in  my  heart.  It  strains  it. 
I  have  no  one  else  to  speak  to, — indeed,  no  one  that 
E  g  9 


98  THE  WITNESS   OF  THE  SUN. 

I  care  to  speak  to.  You  are  the  only  one, — the  very 
first, — the  first  since  I  was  a  little  child  and  I  gave 
you  my  silver  book.  You  helped  to  form  my  life. 
You  helped  to  make  me  into  what  you  now  love. 
You  were  like  a  song  through  the  silence  of  my  life, 
— like  the  song  that  Pippa  sang  so  unconsciously, 
always,  always  at  the  right  moment.  Always  your 
memory  was  with  me  at  the  right  moment.  I  never 
had  a  wrong  thought,  a  wrong  impulse,  that  your 
face  did  not  come  to  me  as  clear,  as  clear, — it  was 
as  clear  as  that  white  magnolia  flower  there  in  the 
moonlight.  And  your  eyes  would  look  so  grieved. 
I  longed  to  ask  your  pardon,  to  have  you  take  my 
hand  and  say  that  you  forgave  me.  I  dreamed 
about  you  sometimes  when  I  was  awake,  sometimes 
when  I  was  asleep.  When  I  used  to  fancy  how  it 
would  be  if  you  were  dead,  it  seemed  to  me  that  my 
life  would  never  stop  going  on,  on,  on,  on.  And 
my  heart  seemed  like  a  tiresome  voice  insisting  that 
I  was  alive.  I  would  try  not  to  listen  to  it ;  but  it 
would  seem  to  fill  the  room.  And  then  I  would  lie 
quite  still  and  think,  '  After  all,  it  is  you  who  love 
him,  my  heart.  Beat  on,  beat  on  !  Oh,  do  not 
stop !  without  you  I  could  not  give  him  my  love.7 

"  And  then  I  would  imagine  you  married  to  some 
one, — some  one  fair  and  tall,  having  great  dark  eyes, 
and  wonderful  hair  with  deep  shadows  and  lights, 
like  the  lights  on  moving  water, — -some  one  whom 
you  loved.  It  was  like  a  band  squeezing  my  heart. 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  99 

It  was  as  though  crabs  had  my  throat  and  side  in 
their  nippers.  I  would  get  up  and  go  to  the  window 
and  fill  my  soul  with  the  night.  And  then  peace 
and  rest  and  gentleness  would  seem  to  flow  down 
to  me  through  the  stars,  as  though  their  rays  were 
silver  threads  binding  my  soul  to  heaven.  I  would 
say,  '  Perhaps  it  cools  his  eyes  to  take  the  stars  deep, 
deep  into  them.  Perhaps  he  kneels  sometimes  and 
looks  up  at  them  as  I  am  looking  now/  And  then 
I  would  say,  '  Give  him  peace  too,  dear  stars.  Give 
him  rest,  and  a  cool  quietness,  and  thoughts  of  the 
shady  places  of  heaven,  as  you  have  given  me.' 
And  then  I  would  sleep.  I  was  only  a  child ;  but 
I  loved  you.  Oh,  I  loved  you  ! — not  so  much  as  I 
do  now,  but  much — much !" 

She  lifted  his  hand,  and  would  have  pressed  her 
lips  upon  it,  but  he  stopped  her. 

"Not  that!  not  that !"     He  could  not  speak. 

She  waited  for  him,  looking  up  at  the  gathering 
stars  in  mid-heaven.  "  My  heaven-hearted  one  !  my 
spirit-love  !"  he  said,  at  last.  "  How  am  I  to  speak 
to  you?  How  am  I  to  put  into  my  blunt  man's 
words  the  story  of  my  love  for  you  ?  Let  me  prove 
it  to  you,  beloved  !  Do  not  wait  for  me  to  speak. 
There  is  nothing  that  I  can  say  after  what  you  have 
told  me.  Even  the  passion  of  sunlight  would  seem 
too  earthly  after  the  starry  sweetness  of  your  words. 
You  are  all  to  me, — everything.  You  are  sun  and 
stars,  the  night  and  the  day,  the  inland  and  the 


100  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

ocean,  reality,  dreams,  ambition,  fruition.  You  sur 
pass  my  ideal,  inasmuch  as  it  is  not  in  the  power  of 
a  man,  no  matter  how  clean  and  high  his  life  has 
been,  to  evolve  out  of  sheer  imagination  a  woman 
like  yourself.  Were  a  man,  even  faintly,  to  imagine 
such  a  woman,  she  would  seem  in  his  dreams  unreal, 
evasive,  cold.  You  are  as  real  to  me  as  music,  as 
the  May,  as  the  light  on  summer  hills,  as  warm  as 
the  heart  of  summer,  sweeter,  more  full  of  possibili 
ties.  There  is  nothing  chilling  about  you,  and  when 
I  draw  you  to  me,  so,  and  feel  your  sweet  life  throb 
bing  in  my  arms,  I  wish  that  day  might  never  break 
again,  but  that  we  could  live  on  in  this  trance  of 
content,  closed  in  by  this  vast  night,  watched  over 
by  the  stars  with  their  light  in  our  hearts." 

"  My  man  of  men/7  said  the  girl,  "  was  I  not 
right  to  love  you  ?" 

"  You  humble  me  !  you  humble  me  !"  cried  Nad- 
rovine,  passionately.  "  I  had  thought  my  life  a 
clean  one  until  your  love  shone  on  it.  And  now  it 
seems  full  of  dark  places !" 

"It  is  full  of  my  love,"  she  said,  pressing  her 
cheek  to  his,  and  touching  his  bended  throat  lightly 
with  the  ends  of  her  long  fingers. 

"  I  cannot  speak,"  he  said.  "  Forgive  me.  I 
have  no  words.  I  have  dreamed  of  such  a  love, — 
of  such  a  love  as  I  feel  for  you,  I  mean.  There  are 
no  words.  I  will  listen  to  you." 

A  lustrous  quivering  began  to  fill  the  air, — the 


WITNESS  V 

light  from  the  rising  moon.  All  things  were  radiant 
with  it.  White  flowers  appeared  here  and  there  from 
the  shadows,  as  the  stars  had  appeared  at  first  in  the 
heavens.  As  the  silver  edge  began  to  gleam  behind 
the  almond-trees  on  a  rise  near  by,  she  turned  to 
him  with  an  exquisite  shyness,  lifting  her  face  to  his 
in  the  tranquil  light. 

"  Let  the  moon  be  a  witness,  also,"  she  said,  on  a 
catching  breath;  and,  stooping,  Nadrovine  put  his 
mouth  to  the  word-stirred  lips.  It  was  a  kiss  long 
and  gentle,  but  such  a  kiss  as  he  would  have  given 
a  child.  He  could  not  have  kissed  her  as  a  lover 
then,  even  had  she  desired  it.  .  But  she  smiled  with 
perfect  joy,  drooping  her  head  a  little,  and  grudging 
even  the  night-wind  its  touch  upon  her  lips. 

They  parted  in  utter  silence,  Nadrovine  holding 
her  upon  his  breast  a  moment  when  he  lifted  her 
from  the  saddle,  and  making  silently  the  sign  of  the 
cross  upon  her  forehead. 

IX. 

Nadrovine  was  a  man  whose  nature  wras  too  re 
fined  for  his  life  to  have  been  coarse.  He  was  moral 
rather  from  inclination  than  from  principle  ;  although 
principle  would  have  restrained  him  to  a  great  de 
gree  even  had  his  tastes  been  different  from  what 
they  were.  Crime  had  no  attraction  for  him,  and 
he  would  as  soon  have  turned  from  galloping  upon 
elastic  turf  to  plunge  along  through  a  muddy  lane, 
9* 


102  THE  WtmESS  OF   THE  SUN. 

as  to  have  turned  aside  from  the  pursuit  of  his  art 
to  accept  caresses  that  bored  him.  There  are  such 
men.  They  are  termed  icicles  by  the  ignoble  and 
given  small  credit  for  their  course  of  action.  "  We 
will  give  a  tiger  credit  for  not  eating  men,"  say  the 
wise,  "  but  a  horse  is  graminivorous  :  why  should  we 
praise  him  because  he  does  not  feed  upon  flesh  ?" 

In  truth,  Nadrovine  was  not  cold ;  but  the  fires 
o£  his  nature  were  as  deeply  buried  as  those  of 
earth,  and  when  they  were  quiescent  ice  and  snow 
could  form  above  them,  and  so  the  wise  were  de 
ceived.  The  hearts  of  most  men  are  like  the  grates 
in  inns,  where  the  wood  is  laid  ready  for  kindling ; 
and  the  smile  of  any  pretty  woman  is  enough  to  set 
it  in  a  blaze.  Nadrovine's  heart  resembled  a  vol 
cano,  and  it  depended  upon  his  own  nature  and  the 
voice  of  one  woman  as  to  whether  or  not  the  hidden 
flame  would  be  discernible. 

To  those  who  have  an  indomitable  patience,  love 
in  its  highest  and  most  complete  form  invariably 
comes.  Whether  it  be  for  pain  or  gladness,  those 
who  have  dreamed  loyally  of  Love,  not  condescend 
ing  meanwhile  to  distract  themselves  with  Philotes^ 
will  always  feel,  at  last,  his  hands  in  theirs,  and  see 
the  tears  and  laughter  of  his  eyes.  As  Nadrovine 
rode  slowly  home  beneath  the  tremulous  splendor 
of  the  stars,  yesterday  seemed  as  far  beyond  him  as 
though  he  had  slept  for  a  thousand  years  and  been 
awakened  by  a  kiss.  He  seemed  always  to  have 


THE   WITNESS   OF  THE  SUN.  1Q3 

loved  her, — always  to  have  belonged  to  her,  as  she 
had  said  of  herself  in  regard  to  him,  with  her  pure 
frankness.  In  truth,  it  is  never  anything  but  what 
we  have  given  up  that  comes  to  us.  He  had  given 
up,  long  ago,  all  idea  of  bestowing  or  receiving  love, 
and  now  his  breast  actually  ached  with  a  magnitude 
of  devotion  such  as  he  had  never  ventured  to  describe, 
even  in  his  most  impassioned  romances.  Here  was  a 
love  which  seemed  the  beginning  of  everything  in 
stead  of  the  end  of  a  great  many.  Instead  of  resign 
ing  all  other  women  in  order  to  possess  this  one,  he 
felt  that  in  contrast  with  her  all  others  ceased  to 
exist.  They  became  mere  ciphers,  which  served  to 
increase  the  value  of  his  unit  by  passing  behind  her, 
and  he  wondered  that  he  had  not  recognized  in  her  as 
a  child  the  spirit  which  as  a  woman  would  enthrall 
him. 

He  entered  the  cool  hall  of  the  pretty  villa  which 
he  had  taken  in  order  that  his  mother  might  spend 
the  rest  of  the  summer  with  him.  There  was  a 
heavy  scent  of  roses  on  the  air.  An  armful  of  the 
deep,  orange-colored  flowers  lay  on  a  low  table  under 
some  wax-lights,  and  two  or  three  had  fallen  on  the 
red  tiles  of  the  floor.  As  he  stood  absently  looking 
at  them,  the  faint  odor  of  a  cigarette  passed  through 
a  curtained  door  and  floated  towards  him.  At  first 
he  was  scarcely  conscious  of  it,  then  started,  and, 
turning,  entered  between  the  curtains  into  the  apart 
ment  beyond. 


104  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

"  Ah,  at  last !"  was  breathed  rather  than  spoken. 

His  mother,  leaning  back  among  gold-colored 
cushions  with  a  knot  of  the  orange  roses  at  her  breast, 
reached  up  languidly  with  her  beautiful,  half-bare 
arms  and  drew  his  mouth  down  upon  hers.  The 
perfume  of  the  cigarette-smoke  upon  her  breath  and 
in  her  hair  irritated  him,  and  the  roses  jarred  upon 
him  after  the  wonderful  freshness  of  the  night  out 
side, — being  of  the  rare,  hot-house  species  which  one 
invariably  associates  with  dinners  and  balls. 

The  slight  shade  of  annoyance,  however,  only  ac 
centuated  the  radiant  expression  of  welcome  which 
had  lighted  his  face  when  she  first  spoke. 

"  Have  you  waited  long  ?"  he  said.  "  I  did  not 
expect  you  until  to-morrow.  Is  your  room  in  readi 
ness  ?  Have  you  as  many  apartments  as  you  wish  ? 
Small  one,  how  good  it  is  to  see  you !" 

She  leaned  over  him  as  he  knelt  at  her  side,  caress 
ing  his  curls  by  nipping  them  with  her  lips  which 
she  drew  in  over  her  teeth,  and  pulling  them  so  as  to 
cause  him  a  slight  pain.  His  chin  she  had  taken 
into  one  of  her  strong,  flexile  palms,  so  that  he  could 
not  pull  away,  and  her  other  hand  was  behind  his 
throat. 

"  I  have  everything.  I  have  you,  my  little  dear 
one  !"  she  replied.  "  It  seems  to  me  as  though  I  can 
never  forget  that  you  were  once  my  baby,  and  that 
you  lay  with  your  little  face  buried  in  my  throat, 
and  pinched  me  with  your  sharp  little  gums  to  show 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  1Q5 

when  you  were  hungry.  I  feel  you  now, — no  longer 
than  one  of  these  roses,  stem  and  all ;  and  so  soft ! 
You  smelt  always  of  ironed  linen  and  dried  violets. 
I  can  sniff  your  little  damp  head  on  the  flannel  now. 
And  that  is  all  gone  forever  !  Vladimir,  if  you  ever 
marry  I  don't  think  I  shall  make  a  great  noise.  I 
think  I  shall  go  very  quietly  to  your  bride's  house 
to  take  her  a  wedding-present;  and  when  she  is 
asleep,  with  her  white  throat  bent  backward  for 
your  dream ed-of  kisses,  I  shall  give  it  one  snip,  deep 
to  the  left,  with  my  little,  crooked  toilet-scissors,  and 
then  strike  her  across  the  lips,  very  lightly,  once  with 
my  gloves.  Come  !  How  pale  you  are  !  How  you 
scowl,  my  great  one !  Come  into  your  old  small 
one's  arms  and  let  her  tell  you  that  really  your  bride 
shall  be  as  her  own  child,  and  that  she  will  kiss  the 
pretty  throat  and  mouth  many  times  for  the  kisses 
that  you  will  have  left  there.  Ah !"  she  added, 
pressing  her  lips  again  to  his,  "  but  it  is  absurdly 
delicious  to  think  that  I  am  not  called  on  to  share 
you  yet, — that  you  are  all  mine, — all  that  you  do  not 
put  in  those  books  of  yours.  But  there  is  some 
thing  different, — a  look,  a  pose,  a — I  don't  know 
what.  Is  it  a  new  book  ?  Have  you  been  writing 
a  love-scene  ?" 

She  drew  back,  pressing  him  from  her  with  a  hand 
on  either  shoulder  and  regarding  him  steadily  from 
narrowred  lids  with  her  dark-green,  jewel-like  eyes. 
"  Ah,  yes !  you  have  been  writing  one  of  those  de- 


106  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

scriptions  where  one  feels  through  the  people  one  is 
writing  of.  You  have  trembled  with  your  hero  be 
neath  the  kiss  of  some  beautiful  woman.  He  has 
taken  her  in  his  arms,  and  your  breast  has  throbbed. 
Go  ! — go  and  bring  it  and  read  it  to  me.  I  will 
not  even  smoke  while  I  listen."  She  gave  him  a 
little  push  forward,  but  he  leaned  against  her  knees, 
saying  that  he  was  tired  and  had  written  no  love- 
scene. 

"  Not  with  pen  and  ink,  perhaps/'  replied  his 
mother,  "but  there  has  been  one  written  on  your 
mind's  tablets  lately.  Do  not  deny  it !  There  is  a 
certain  look  upon  your  face  of  which  I  am  a  con 
noisseur.  "Well,  then,  tell  me  of  it !  I  would  much 
rather  hear  it  related  than  read." 

Nadrovine  moved  his  head  as  it  lay  against  her 
arm,  to  signify  that  he  had  nothing  either  to  read  or 
to  relate. 

"  Ah,  bah  !  you  are  a  stupid,  sweet  monster,  like 
that  fellow  with  the  ass's  head  in  the  play.  I  am 
to  be  your  Titania  and  tickle  your  ears  as  you  sleep, 
I  suppose?  Now  rise  at  once,  and  seat  yourself 
opposite  me,  that  I  may  look  at  you.  But  not  on 
poor  Scud  !"  she  added,  as  Nadrovine  prepared  to 
throw  himself  into  a  low  wicker  chair  in  front  of  her. 
There  was  lying  in  it  a  dapper  fox-terrier  which  she 
shook  unceremoniously  from  the  silk  cushion  upon 
the  floor.  "  He  is  a  nice  little  beast.  I  do  not  wish 
him  out  of  the  way,  yet.  And,  besides,  the  proper 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  1Q7 

method  will  be  to  chloroform  him,  not  to  mash  him 
to  a  jelly." 

"Why  do  you  have  a  fox-terrier?"  asked  Nadro- 
vine.  "  A  Russian  greyhound,  or  a  deer-hound,  or 
even  a  Siberian  blood-hound,  would  suit  you  far 
better  than  that  fidgety  little  gommeux" 

"  Precisely  why  I  like  him,  dear,  great,  but  not 
always  discerning  one !  I  dislike  women  who  are 
eternally  posing  for  harmonious  effects.  I  am  natu 
rally  expected  to  own  a  sleuth-hound,  or  some  mon 
ster  of  that  sort,  and  to  drive  with  my  horses  Rus 
sian  fashion ;  therefore  I  prefer  a  fox-terrier  and  a 
curricle  with  a  pair  of  English  bays  harnessed  in 
the  usual  manner,  as  becomes  a  fading  beauty  with 
more  than  five  gray  hairs  visible  in  the  most  con 
spicuous  waves  of  her  tresses,  and  whose  son  writes 
novels  which  add  at  least  a  hundred  years  to  her 
age." 

She  put  one  of  her  exquisite  feet,  in  its  silk 
stocking  and  small  embroidered  mule,  on  the  edge 
of  the  chair  in  which  he  was  sitting,  and  rubbed  it 
gently  against  him  as  she  talked.  She  was  nearly 
head  and  shoulders  taller  than  the  Medici,  but  the 
Medici  could  not  have  supported  her  plump  body 
upon  those  fine,  delicately-modelled  ankles. 

Madame  Nadrovine's  wrists  and  ankles  would 
have  been  too  small,  had  it  not  been  for  the  perfect, 
lithe  symmetry  of  her-  whole  superb  figure.  Her 
white  flesh  was  as  hard  and  elastic  as  the  flesh  of  a 


108  THE    WITNESS   OF  THE  SUN. 

young  horse,  and  she  had  the  eyes  of  a  girl.  Those 
eyes  in  the  rich  maturity  of  her  face  were  like  some 
flowers  of  spring  blooming  in  the  heart  of  summer. 
They  were  a  girl's  eyes,  but  experience  spoke  from 
every  curve  of  the  deeply-cut  lips. 

" '  A  fading  beauty' !"  echoed  Nadrovine,  clasping 
the  narrow  foot.  "  Small  one !  some  one  has  been 
praising  you  lately,  else  you  would  not  venture  to 
say  such  a  thing.  And  so  you  have  five  gray  hairs  ? 
Give  them  to  me,  and  I  will  have  them  made  into 
a  paint-brush  to  color  that  pretty  mole  on  the  left 
of  your  chin,  there." 

"  Le  bon  Dieu  has  saved  me  that  trouble,  man 
cher"  replied  his  mother,  tranquilly.  "But  your 
thought  is  a  kindness,  nevertheless.  I  will  smoke 
now,  I  think.  My  cigarette-case,  if  you  please." 
She  extended  her  hand, — one  of  those  beautiful  hands 
whose  palms  look  like  crumpled  pink  tissue-paper, 
and  yet  which  have  the  strength  of  machinery. 

He  handed  her  the  simple  silver  case  with  its 
cipher — S.  N. — in  gold,  and  she  snapped  back  the 
lid  with  an  impatient  click,  finding  it  empty. 

"  I  am  rather  glad  of  that/7  said  Nadroviue,  lazily 
reaching  for  papers  and  tobacco.  "  I  enjoy  nothing 
much  more  than  seeing  you  roll  cigarettes." 

"  Baby  !  I  love  you  !"  she  replied,  pressing  him 
with  a  little  movement  of  her  foot.  "  By  the  way, 
Vladimir,  have  you  your  horse  with  you  ?" 

"  Czarina,  you  mean  ?    Yes.    Will  you  ride  here  ?" 


THE    WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  1Q9 

"Ride?"  She  paused  to  look  at  him,  with  the 
moist  rose  tip  of  her  tongue  against  the  cigarette 
which  she  was  rolling.  "  Will  I  ride  here  ?  Dear 
great  one  !  can  you  fancy  me  in  any  place  two  days, 
two  hours,  without  being  on  horseback?  If  I  am 
ever  translated,  I  trust  it  will  be  in  a  saddle  rather 
than  a  chariot." 

"  My  horses  are  at  your  disposal,  most  dear." 

She  rose  to  light  her  cigarette  over  the  lamp  near 
which  they  were  sitting.  The  light  caught  her  curled 
eyelashes  and  the  jut  of  her  strongly-marked  brows. 
He  thought  he  detected  a  slight  tremor  at  the  corners 
of  her  mouth. 

"Why  do  you  smile ?"  he  demanded,  somewhat 
quickly. 

"  Oh,  well, — at  nothing, — at  a  thought."  She 
pulled  the  fox-terrier's  ears  between  her  thumb  and 
little  finger,  holding  her  cigarette  in  her  first  and 
third.  Then,  suddenly  lifting  her  eyes  upon  his, — 

"  Am  I  '  most  dear'  ?" 

Nadroviue  started  perceptibly.  He  felt  his  cheeks 
sting,  and  a  certain  bigness  about  his  heart,  which 
beat  fiercely. 

"Am  I?"  repeated  his  mother,  serenely.  She 
blew  some  rings  of  smoke  from  her  rounded  lips, 
and  he  thought  with  an  absent-minded  fancifulness 
that  they  looked  like  the  ghosts  of  kisses. 

"  Why  should  you  ask  me  such  a  question  ?"  he 
inquired,  finally,  with  abruptness. 
10 


110  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

"  Why  ?  Oh,  because  it  suggested  itself !  I  won 
dered.  I  put  my  wonder  into  words.  There  is  the 
whole  story." 

"You  will  always  be  'most  dear1  in  your  own 
peculiar  way/'  said  Nadrovine.  He  looked  down 
at  his  left  hand,  surprised  for  the  moment  not  to 
feel  the  familiar  ring  upon  his  finger.  His  mother 
followed  his  glance. 

"In — my — own — peculiar — way?"  she  repeated, 
curiously.  And  then,  "  Your  sapphire,  my  scribbler 
dear? — your  unequalled  'Esto  sol  testis'?  Where 
is  he?  Not  lost?"  There  was  again  that  little 
flicker  at  her  mouth's  edge. 

"  No,  not  lost,"  said  Nadrovine. 

"Well,  and  what  then?" 

"I  took  it  off." 

"  You — took — it — off?"  repeated  his  mother,  with 
the  same  almost  imperceptible  pause  between  the 
words.  She  smiled  openly  this  time.  "  And,  pray, 
where  did  you  put  it  ?" 

"  Where  it  will  be  even  safer,"  he  answered,  rally 
ing  suddenly.  "Where  the  sun  will  be  a  better 
witness  than  ever." 

"  Oh  !     So !"  said  his  mother. 

"  Come !"  cried  Nadrovine,  rising  to  his  feet.  "  It 
is  so  hot  in  here  !  Look  at  the  poor  moths  on  the 
table  there,  and  your  book  curling  in  the  lamp-light ! 
Let  us  walk  on  the  terrace.  I  know  that  you  love 
the  sea." 


THE    WITNESS   OF  THE  SUN.  m 

"  Come,  then/7  she  replied.  She  stretched  an  arm 
out  on  either  side,  and  let  the  end  of  her  cigarette 
fall  from  her  relaxed  fingers.  Her  gown  of  cream- 
white  Chinese  silk  hid  the  straining  of  her  supple 
figure  beneath  its  numerous  folds.  "  Ah,"  she  said, 
with  clinched  teeth,  "  that  was  a  renewal  of  every 
thing.  Pull  me  up,  and  I  can  walk  with  you  all 
night."  He  drew  her  to  her  feet,  and  they  passed 
together  into  the  hushed  and  radiant  night  without. 
A  strong  sea-air  entered  their  nostrils,  and  lips  parted 
to  speak,  changing  the  woman's  mood  and  intensify 
ing  that  of  the  man. 

"  One  wishes  one's  self  a  star  on  a  night  like  this  !" 
she  said,  opening  the  folds  of  silk  at  her  neck  and 
expanding  her  splendid  chest.  "  One  wishes  to  be 
loved  only  by  God  and  children ! — one's  own  child," 
— she  pressed  upon  the  shoulder  of  her  son, — "  and 
the  children  of  misfortune." 

"  My  mother  !"  he  said,  forgetting,  in  that  thrilled 
moment,  even  the  eyes  of  Ilva. 

"  My  son  !"  she  returned.  She  stopped,  hesitated, 
confronted  him.  "  '  For  I,  the  Lord  thy  God,  am 
a  jealous  God  !'  "  she  repeated.  "  Vladimir,  that 
might  read,  i  For  we,  the  women  thy  mothers,  are 
jealous  women  P  To  give  up  !  It  is  impossible. 
It  is  impossible,  Vladimir  !  To  give  up  our  own  to 
strangers !  To  be  forsaken !  Our  Lord  has  said 
that  we  must  be  forsaken.  Yes  !  and  God  also 
said,  '  Honor  thy  father  and  thy  mother !'  It  is 


112  THE    WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

terrible  !  Why  do  those  great  words  contradict  each 
other?  To  give  them  up,  our  own,  our  heart's  blood  ! 
— to  give  them  up  to  little,  pretty  things  who  do  not 
even  know  what  it  means  to  accept  them, — to  take 
them  from  us !" 

She  spoke  to  the  sea,  holding  her  strong  throat 
with  a  hand  on  either  side. 

"  To  give  them  up,  their  eyes,  their  voices,  their 
days,  their  nights,  the  talents  and  passions  that  they 
have  drawn  from  our  breasts.  To  give  them  up! 
— always  to  give  them  up !  To  be  forsaken  !  To 
be  content  to  be  forsaken !  To  feel  that  we  are  second 
to  what  will  forever  be  first  with  us !  To  remember 
our  pain  that  gave  them  being,  and  to  endure  pain 
more  frightful  in  resigning  them  !  To  know  that 
they  will  never  be  wholly  ours  again !  To  know 
that  their  arms  are  only  nests  for  others,  their  hearts 
quickened  with  another's  image,  their  lips  waiting 
for  her,  that  heaven  means  only  the  possibility  of 
her  presence  !  Jealous  ?  Jealous  ?  Vladimir  !" — 
her  voice  rang  through  him, — "  where  is  your  ring  ?" 

X. 

The  sound  of  the  sea  seemed  to  cease  for  Nadro- 
vine.  He  heard  only  the  pumping  of  his  quick 
blood  past  his  ears.  His  mother's  face  shut  out  the 
phosphorescent  line  of  surf  beyond, — a  face  which 
was  a  shadow,  broken  only  by  the  glittering  ques 
tions  of  her  eyes.  He  was  dumb,  overwhelmed  by 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  H3 

a  vast  distaste  to  sharing  his  secret  even  with  her. 
He  had  not  meant  to  reveal  it  for  some  days.  II  va, 
he  knew,  would  remain  silent  until  he  told  her  to 
speak.  His  mother  waited,  moveless,  wordless.  He 
could  hear  her  heart  beating  a  little  out  of  time  with 
his,  —  more  quickly  and  unevenly.  She  was  still 
holding  her  throat  in  both  hands,  and  her  silk  gown 
made  a  subdued,  crisp  noise  in  the  varying  wind 
which  was  not  unlike  an  echo  of  the  advancing,  re 
ceding  waves  below. 

He  spoke  at  last,  taking  down  her  hands  from 
her  throat  and  placing  them  against  his  breast. 

"  Trust  me,  my  mother  !"  he  said.  They  were 
the  first  words  that  came  to  him. 

"  Show  yourself  worthy,"  she  answered.  "  Let 
me  trust  you.  Your  ring,  Vladimir  !" 

He  stooped  and  kissed  the  hands  that  he  held. 

"  If  I  tell  you  in  a  week,  small  one,  will  that 


«  Why  in  a  week  ?" 

"  It  is  a  whim,  —  a  desire.  I  beg  of  you,  give  me 
this  week.  Have  you  never  wanted  a  week  out  of 
your  life  all  to  yourself,  for  no  particular  reason  ?" 

"  But  why  a  week  ?  Why  not  two  weeks  ?  Why 
not  two  days  ?" 

"  You  will  trust  me  ?" 

"  I  must  !"  She  drew  her  hands  impatiently  away, 
—  turned  from  him.  The  moon  shone  through  the 
thin  folds  of  her  gown  on  either  side,  and  her  noble 
h  10- 


114  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

figure  was  dark  between  them.  Nadrovine  followed 
her. 

"  You  will  do  as  I  ask,  little  mother  ?" 

"Why  a  week?"  she  reiterated,  turning  upon 
him. 

He  began  to  experience  that  sensation  of  hopeless 
exasperation  which  possesses  one  when  questioned 
against  one's  will. 

"  I  have  said  ( a  week/  "  he  answered,  controlling 
himself.  "It  is  a  short  time.  This  is  Tuesday 
night.  Next  Tuesday  night  at  this  hour  I  will  tell 
you." 

"  Perhaps  I  shall  not  care  to  know  then,"  she 
said,  harshly.  All  softness  had  passed  from  her  face. 
It  was  as  expressionless  as  an  inland  lake  when  no 
wind  is  stirring. 

"  As  you  please,"  said  Nadrovine.  He  stood 
looking  down  at  the  sea,  with  his  profile  turned 
towards  her.  The  pain  of  being  misunderstood  was 
upon  him,  and  that  stripped  feeling  which  accom 
panies  any  attempt  of  another,  no  matter  how  dear, 
to  unveil  our  holy  of  holies. 

"  The  sea  is  the  water  of  youth,"  remarked  his 
mother,  turning  abruptly,  her  voice  light  and  un 
concerned  again.  "  Paris  is  like  Mr.  Hyde,  and 
the  Kiviera  is  like  Dr.  Jekyll,  where  one's  health 
is  concerned.  I  feel  much  younger  !" 

They  talked  of  his  work  and  prospects,  walking 
up  and  down  in  the  moonlight  until  nearly  one 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  H5 

o'clock,  when  his  mother  left  him  to  go  to  bed.  She 
made  no  allusion  to  their  first  topic  of  conversation, 
but  kissed  him  good-night  on  the  cheek  instead  of  on 
the  lips. 

If  men  realized  how  their  mothers  love  them, 
there  would  be  a  new  force  in  the  world. 

Nadrovine,  on  the  contrary,  thought  his  mother 
exacting  and  lacking  in  consideration  for  him. 

He  came  upon  her  the  next  morning  shortly  after 
sunrise,  with  little  Lotta  Boutry  at  her  side. 

"An  elf,  Vladimir!"  she  called  to  him,— "  a 
genuine  elf!  She  is  coming  to  breakfast  with  me. 
I  have  promised  to  have  some  woodbine  for  her  to 
suck,  and  some  candied  violets  for  an  entree.  She 
says  she  can  fence, — with  a  bulrush,  no  doubt !" 

"  Oh,  Signor  Nadrovine,"  cried  Lotta,  "  if  this  is 
your  maman,  I  do  not  wonder  you  tell  charming 
fairy-stories  and  that  Cousine  Ilva  loves  so  to  hear 
you  talk  !  She  is  even  more  beautiful  than  you, — 
your  maman,  I  mean, — and  she  speaks  as  charm- 
ingly!" 

"  Who  is  '  Cousine  Ilva'  ?"  said  Madame  Nadro- 
vine. 

"  Your  buttons  are  too  much  to  the  left,  Made 
moiselle  Lotta,"  corrected  Nadrovine.  "  Draw  your 
right  shoulder  a  trifle  backward,  I  pray  you." 

"  Cousine  Ilva,"  said  Mademoiselle  Boutry, — "  I 
thank  you,  Signor  Nadrovine, — Cousine  Ilva  is  the 
Signorina  Demarini.  She  and  Signor  Nadrovine, 


THE  WITNESS   OF  THE  SUN. 

your  son,  are  the  greatest  of  friends.  They  take  long 
rides  together, — long,  long  rides.  And  talk  !  Oh, 
how  they  talk  !  One  can  hear  them  when  one  has 
ridden  far  ahead, — a  sort  of  murmur  like  a  bee 
caught  in  a  flower, — um-um-urn-um.  Signor  Na- 
drovine  used  to  tell  Cousine  Ilva  stories  when  she 
was  a  little,  little  girl.  He  called  her,  <  doushka'  then. 
He  was  'The  Prince  of  the  Silver  Book/  I  feel 
convinced." 

"  Why  ?"  said  Madame  Nadrovine. 

"  Because  he  calls  her  '  doushka.'  *' 

"  Oh  !     So  he  calls  her  '  doushka'  now  ?" 

"Yes,  madarne." 

"  And  what  does  she  say  in  reply  ?" 

"  She  looks  another  way,  or  says  nothing,  or  says, 
<  Signor  ?''" 

"  You  observe,  do  you  not,  cherie  ?" 

"  I  used  to  observe  more  than  I  do  now,  madarne, 
but  maman  has  broken  me  of  it  somewhat.  When 
ever  I  look  in  the  least  solemn,  she  says,  'Qit'oa- 
tUj  chtrie  f  As-tu  de  bo-bo  f  Miss  Herbert  says  that 
means,  in  English,  { Art  thou  in  the  doomps  ?'  9i 

"  Thou  hast  not  the  '  doomps'  this  morning,  then, 
little  one  ?"  said  Madame  Nadrovine. 

"  Oh,  no  !"  replied  Lotta. 

"And  what  did  you  say  your  cousine  Ilva  was 
named  ?" 

"  She  is  the  Signorina  Demarini." 

"  Demarini  ?"  repeated  Madame  Nadrovine.     She 


THE  WITNESS  OF   THE  SUN.  H7 

knit  her  deeply-modelled  brows.  "  Demarini  ?  And 
your  uncle,  the  Signor  Demarini,  what  is  he  like?" 

"  I  do  not  know  him  well.  Fanny  says  that  he 
has  the  nose  of  a  shadow  when  one  holds  the  candle 
in  a  wrong  position." 

"  A  Roman  nose,  then  ?" 

"  It  has  a  hump,  rnadame." 

"  How  do  you  know,  petite  ?" 

"By  his  portrait  in  Aunt  Anita's  locket.  But 
his  hair,  oh,  it  is  lovely !  Like  astrachan.  So 
black !  so  curly !  One  would  not  think  of  his  nose 
again  when  one  had  looked  at  his  hair." 

"  You  are  a  delightful  morsel,"  said  Madame  Xa- 
drovine, — "  as  complete  as  a  little  mole  on  a  pretty 
woman's  cheek." 

"  You  have  two  moles,"  said  Lotta,  composedly, 
"  and  of  such  a  lovely  brown.  They  are  just  like 
little  bits  of  a  negro's  skin  pasted  upon  yours. 
Maman  had  a  little  negro  page  one  year.  He  stole 
so  much  sugar  that  it  gave  him  some  disease  and  he 
died.  He  was  odious.  I  prayed  not  to  be  glad. 
But  it  was  at  Christmas.  Le  bon  Dieu  had  so  much 
to  attend  to  that  probably  he  did  not  listen  to  me." 

"  Why  ?"  asked  Madame  Nadrovine  for  the  second 
time. 

"Oh,  well,  because,"  replied  Mademoiselle 
Boutry, — "because  I  was  glad.  He  used  to  bite 
pieces  out  of  my  wax  dolls  and  chew  them.  He 
was  very  odious.  One  could  not  call  one's  dolls 


118  THE  WITNESS   OF  THE  SUN. 

one's  own,  when  he  was  by.  Little  negroes  are 
hateful  things.  One  night  maman  let  me  sit  up  to 
see  an  eclipse  of  the  moon.  It  came  to  me  then. 
Little  negroes  are  like  eclipses  of  the  stars.  We — 
we  white  children  are  like  real  stars,  and  little 
negroes  are  like  eclipsed  stars, — brown,  dull  and 
horrid.  Fancy  a  heaven  of  eclipsed  stars,  mon 
sieur,  with  an  eclipsed  moon  for  maman  !  Bah  !" 
She  galloped  ahead  a  little  way. 

"I  wish  to  chaperon  her  at  her  first  ball,  great 
one,"  said  Madame  Nadrovine  over  her  shoulder. 

"You  like  arduous  tasks,"  replied  Nadrovine, 
dryly. 

"  Arduous  !"  exclaimed  his  mother.  "  I  should 
like  to  drive  a  comet  with  its  tail  for  reins — that  is 
all !  Brilliant !  The  child  is  a  fairy,  with  a  diamond 
for  a  mind.  One  could  write  on  crystal  with  it." 

"  Or  glass,"  said  Nadrovine. 

"Oh,  yes,  glass,"  repeated  his  mother, — "glass 
made  from  the  ashes  of  great  men  and  the  sands  of 
time." 

"  You  will  spoil  her,  small  one." 

"  If  I  did  not,  men  would.  It  is  always  better 
for  a  woman  to  be  spoiled  by  women  than  by  men." 

"  But  she  is  a  child,  not  a  woman." 

"Children  are  born  women  in  this  nineteenth 
century.  You  hear  how  she  talks  ?" 

"Yes;  it  makes  one  laugh  and  shudder  at  the 
same  time." 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  H9 

"To  say  the  least,  that  is  a  novel  sensation. 
One  generally  combines  tears  with  shuddering, — not 
laughter.  Here  she  comes  back  again." 

Lotta  approached  them  on  her  pony,  her  cheeks 
like  the  inner  lips  of  conch-shells,  her  hair  riotous 
in  the  sharp  morning  wind. 

"Oh,  madame !"  she  cried,  "see  what  a  droll 
thing  I  have  found !  A  little  shell !  So  fine !  so 
pretty !  And  yet  when  one  holds  it  in  one's  hand 
it  puts  out  horrid  claws  into  one's  palm." 

"  Throw  it  away,"  advised  Madame  Nadrovine. 

Lotta  regarded  it  gravely.  "Cousine  Ilva  says 
that  there  is  a  lesson  in  everything,"  she  remarked. 
"  I  have  decided  already  upon  this  queer  creature. 
It  is  like  the  cure"  of  our  village.  He  is  so  smooth, 
so  quiet  on  the  outside,- — his  shell,  you  know, — and 
then  as  soon  as  one  begins  to  listen,  to  really  be 
interested,  he  puts  out  his  claws  and  scratches  one. 
He  hints  at  one's  friends,  especially  when  they  are 
sitting  in  the  front  row  and  have  new  gowns  on. 
Marie  Dinot  had  a  new  cap  one  Sunday,  and  a 
blue  gown  that  maman  gave  her,  and  he  said  some 
things — some  horrid  things — about  head-dresses  and 
fine  apparel.  Marie  fairly  squirmed.  I  really 
wished  to  spread  my  own  gown  over  her,  she  looked 
so  embarrassed ;  and  really,  you  know,  it  was  imma 
terial  to  me." 

"  You  are  a  little  Samaritan,"  remarked  Madame 
Nadrovine. 


120  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

"  Oh,  I  should  like  to  be !"  said  Lotta.  "  But 
it  is  beyond  me.  Numa  Rouinestan" — she  patted 
the  pony's  flat  and  muscular  neck — "  will  not  carry 
double.  I  could  not  take  any  one  on  my  horse  and 
pour  oil  on  him, — not  possibly, — because  Numa 
would  kick  so  frightfully." 

"But  you  would  wish  to?"  suggested  Madame 
Nad  ro  vine. 

"  Oh,  yes,  with  all  my  heart.  I  would  ride  away 
and  get  Cousine  Ilva,  and  she  would  tell  me  what 
to  do." 

"  How  good  this  Cousine  Ilva  must  be !" 

"  There  is  no  one  so  good,  nor  so  pretty." 

"Not  even  I?"  asked  her  new  friend.  Lotta 
reined  in  Numa,  and  shaded  her  eyes  in  order  to 
observe  her  carefully. 

"  You  are  not  pretty,"  she  announced,  finally. 
"You  are  like  a  great  picture  which  has  been 
painted  many  years.  Young  girls  might  make  you 
look  like  a  picture, — a  little  pale,  you  know;  but 
you  make  them  look  just  what  they  are, — only  young 
girls.  I  say  it  so  badly.  One  feels  you,  madame, 
and  one  sees  them.  Your  hair  is  so  beautiful,  like 
purple-beech  leaves,  and  your  eyes  are  the  color  of 
the  moss  on  which  they  fall  when  the  wind  loosens 
them.  Your  skin  is  like  a  white  cloud.  It  makes 
one  think  to  look  at  you.  When  one  looks  at  my 
cousine  Ilva,  one  wishes  to  know  what  she  thinks." 

"  Your  name  should  be  (  Wonderful/  "  said  Ma- 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  121 

dame  Nadrovine.  "  You  are  the  only  child  that  I 
ever  coveted." 

"  If  one  could  have  two  mammas,"  replied  Lotta, 
"  I  would  pray  for  you  to  be  my  second  one." 

"  And  how  old  are  you  ?"  asked  her  friend. 

"Nine,"  answered  Lotta,  adding,  gravely,  "But 
I  feel  as  though  I  had  lived  much  longer.  Other 
children  of  nine  seem  very  young  to  me." 

"  I  should  think  so  !"  murmured  Madame  Nadro- 
vine. 

XI. 

Lotta  found  herself  seated  at  a  light  wicker  table, 
facing  her  new  and  fascinating  acquaintance,  with  a 
plate  of  great  silverish-blue  hot-house  grapes  before 
her,  a  gold  knife  and  fork,  and  a  glass  of  pale- 
yellow  wine  at  her  side. 

"Must  I  drink  this?"  she  inquired,  simply. 

"  If  you  wish,"  replied  Madame  Nadrovine. 

The  child  tasted  it  and  set  it  down. 

"  It  is  wine,  is  it  not  ?"  she  asked.     "  I  like  it." 

"  Yes ;  it  is  Tokay." 

"  Cousine  Ilva  does  not  like  wine.  That  is  some 
thing  the  color  of  her  hair." 

"Then  she  is  very  fair?" 

"  Oh,   very  !      Her  eyes  are   darker   than   these 

grapes,  but  her  skin  is  like — like It  is  whiter 

than  yours,  madame." 

"  And  she  and  my  son  are  great  friends  ?" 
F  11 


122  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

"  Oh,  great !  They  ride,  read,  walk.  I  will  taste 
that  wine  again,  if  I  may,  madame." 

"  Certainly,  cMrie.  It  is  very  light,  like  sun 
beams.  It  is  good  for  you.  Will  you  drink  my 
health  ?" 

The  child  lifted  the  delicate  glass  to  her  thin, 
curved  red  lips. 

"  May  you  grow  more  and  more  beautiful  every 
year,  ch&re  madame,"  said  she. 

"  And  may  you  increase  in  wit  and  in  the  like 
ness  of  Voltaire !"  returned  Madame  Nadrovine, 
bowing  over  her  second  glass. 

"  Who  was  Voltaire?"  asked  Lotta,  pausing  with 
a  grape  half  pressed  from  its  juicy  sheath.  "  Was 
he  the  man  who  said,  'II  y  a  des  fagots  et  des 
fagots'?  Cousine  Ilva  says  that  Shakespeare  said, 
f  There  are  men  and  men/  before  Voltaire  said  that. 
It  was  in  my  last  lesson." 

"  A  sound  lesson,"  said  Madame  Nadrovine. 

"  It  was  a  very  hard  one  to  learn,"  replied  the  child. 

"Ah,  we  all  find  it  so,"  remarked  her  friend, 
smiling.  "  Will  you  have  some  more  of  my  pretty 
wine?" 

"  Yes,  thank  you  so  much.  It  must  be  made  of 
sunbeams  :  it  makes  me  feel  like  dancing,  as  they  do. 
It  seems  as  if  I  had  a  thousand  things  to  tell  you 
and  as  if  they  ought  all  to  be  said  at  once.  I  do 
not  know  where  to  begin."  She  swallowed  another 
mouthful  of  the  Tokay. 


THE  WITNESS   OF   THE  SUN.  123 

"Begin  where  you  wish,"  said  Madame  Nadro- 
viue. 

Lotta  held  out  her  little  hands  and  looked  at 
them  earnestly.  They  seemed  strangely  alive, — to 
have  an  existence  apart  from  hers.  At  the  same 
time  a  joyous  importance  possessed  her :  she  be 
lieved  that  the  green-eyed  lady  opposite  her  would 
attach  great  meaning  to  whatever  she  said  and  was 
anxious  to  hear  her  speak.  She  nodded  her  little 
head  wisely.  "I  will  tell  you  something,"  she 
announced,  in  a  low  voice.  "  I  have  never  told  it, 
even  in  my  prayers.  It  is  about  Signer  Nadro- 
vine." 

"  Indeed  ?"  said  his  mother.  She  replenished  the 
glass  of  Tokay,  and  then  leaned  on  an  indolent  white 
elbow,  waiting  for  the  child  to  continue. 

"Yes,  it  is  about  them  both, — about  Consine  Ilva 

and  Signor  Nadrovine.  It  is  my  belief,  madame 

Did  I  spill  that  grape-juice  on  the  cloth,  madame? 
I  trust  not.  I  have  been  taught  never  to  spill 
things.  My  little  American  governess  taught  me. 
She  never  spills  anything.  She  is  charming.  Her 
eyes  are  of  a  dark  brown,  with  little  three-cornered 
lights  in  them.  But  I  was  not  going  to  talk  about 
her  ?"  She  stopped  with  a  slightly  dazed  expression, 
and  put  this  statement  in  the  form  of  a  question. 

"  It  was  about  my  son  and  your  cousine  Ilva,  was 
it  not,  cherie?" 

"Yes.     Why  doesn't  Signor  Nadrovine  come  to 


124  THE  WITNESS   OF  THE  SUN. 

breakfast  ?  Does  he  never  get  hungry  ?  Why  did 
he  leave  us  ?" 

"  He  wanted  to  ride  longer,  I  suppose.  But  the 
great  secret  which  you  were  going  to  confide  to  me, 
petite  ?" 

"  Oh  !"  said  Lotta.  She  pushed  the  glass  of  Tokay 
a  little  from  her,  and  regarded  it  seriously,  screwing 
her  small  brows  together.  "  Oh  !"  she  said,  again. 
"It  is  not  exactly* a  secret.  An  idea.  My  idea, 
madame.  Only  an  idea  of  mine.  A  silly  idea,  per 
haps.  I  think  they  are  in  love,  like  Graciosa  and 
Percinet  in  the  fairy-tale.  Aunt  Anita  is  like  the 
Duchess  Grognon.  My  aunt  Anita  is  Cousine  Ilva's 
mother.  She  is  an  American  too,  but  she  left  her 
beauty  in  America,  she  says,  with  her  American 
name.  It  was  Ann.  She  is  Anita  in  Italy.  She 
has  a  long  black  tooth  in  front.  It  is  like  one  of  the 
black  keys  on  a  piano-forte,  the  rest  are  so  white. 
She  says  the  nerve  was  killed.  But  she  has  a  great 
many  left.  She  says  that  they  will  kill  her.  They 
go  to  sleep  when  she  is  quiet  and  reads  yellow  books, 
but  when  I  play  with  Zi-Zi  and  Nicoletta  they  wake 
up  and  begin  to  jump  up  and  down.  That  is  the 
time  when  Cousine  Ilva  takes  me  to  the  little  hill, 
and  when  Signor  Nadrovine  comes,  and  we  cut  up 
apricots  and  have  feasts  and  strangle  Zi-Zi  and  Signor 
Nadrovine  steals  the  hair.  I  saw  him.  He  wound 
it  around  his  finger.  I  believe  Cousine  Ilva  saw 
him  too.  She  didn't  say  anything.  But  her  eyes 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  125 

looked.  You  know  people's  eyes  do  look.  His  do, 
— Sigiior  Nadro vine's,  I  mean.  They  look  at  her 
as  if  she  were  an  apricot  and  they  wished  they  had 
teeth,  so  that  they  could  eat  her  up.  They  do,  indeed. 
Indeed,  indeed  they  do.  Oh,  madaine,  how  I  am 
talking  !  My  tongue  seems  to  go  of  itself.  I  have 
such  a  pleasant  little  aching  in  my  elbows  and  knees. 
I  could  ride  right  into  the  middle  of  the  sea,  and 
I  don't  believe  it  would  drown  me.  I  believe  it 
would  roll  up  on  each  side,  as  it  did  for  the  Israel 
ites.  That  is  the  way  Mees  Herbert  does  her  hair. 
I  have  often  thought  the  part  looked  like  the  path 
through  the  Red  Sea, — it  is  so  red,  red,  you  know, 
and  it  is  heaped  up  in  such  big  waves  on  either  side. 
I  imagine  that  the  hair-pins  are  the  Egyptians  all 
sunk  out  of  sight  in  it.  And  the  little  steel  points 
in  her  comb  are  the  good  Israelites,  that  have  gotten 
safely  over.  Cousine  Ilva  says  she  loathes  that  comb. 
She  used  to  learn  her  multiplication-table  by  looking 
at  it,  and  she  never  could  remember  how  many  of 
those  little  steel  points  there  were.  Sometimes  I 
wonder  if  any  one  ever  called  Mees  Herbert 
'  doushka.'  It  would  be  almost  like  calling  Saint 
Cecilia  'Cici,'  or  Saint  Pierre  'Pierrot/  would  it 
not?  Oh,  how  I  talk!  Will  you  forgive  me? 
Will  you  give  me  just  three  more  grapes?  They 
are  like  the  three  bears,  only  they  haven't  bears' 
paws.  I  don't  know  why  I  said  that.  It  doesn't 
seem  to  have  much  sense.  But  then  wise  things 
11* 


126  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

don't  seem  to  have  much  sense.  Those  words  cut 
in  the  ring  that  Cousine  Ilva  wears  around  her  neck, 
— she  showed  them  to  rne  and  explained  them,  but 
they  seemed  not  to  have  much  meaning  to  me.  Some 
thing  about  the  sun.  It  was  Latin.  I  don't  think 
the  Latin  people  could  have  understood  each  other 
very  well.  Perhaps  they  prayed  in  French,  you 
know,  madame.  I  am  sure  God  speaks  French.  It 
would  seem  so  unnatural  for  him  to  speak  English, 
or  German.  He  must  understand  them  all,  of 
course,  but  I  am  sure  that  he  himself  speaks  in 
French." 

"  And  the  words  on  the  ring  were  Latin  ?" 
"Cousine  Ilva  told  me  so.  She  kissed  it.  It 
was  an  Italian  kiss,  no  matter  what  the  words  are. 
It  seems  silly  to  wear  a  ring  on  a  ribbon.  One 
might  as  well  wear  one's  shoe  on  one's  hat.  I  beg 
you  to  forgive  me,  madame.  I  really  feel  as  if  my 
eyes  and  nose  and  ears  would  begin  to  talk  presently. 
I  feel  so  happy,  and  yet  I  feel  like  weeping,  too.  I 
seem  to  love  you  more  than  any  one  in  the  world, 
and  then  that  makes  me  wish  to  cry,  because  there 
is  Cousine  Ilva,  and  maman,  and  my  dear  friend 
Signor  Nadrovine.  I  should  have  said  your  dear 
son.  Please  think  I  meant  your  dear  son,  or  merely 
your  son,  whichever  you  prefer." 

Again  she  lifted  the  wineglass  to  her  lips.  Madame 
Nadrovine,  still  leaning  on  her  elbow,  watched  her 
lazily,  a  smile  just  lifting  the  corners  of  her  round 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  127 

lips.  She  used  sometimes  to  catch  dragou-flies  by 
their  steel-blue  wings  and  dip  them  in  her  wineglass 
until  they  were  quite  intoxicated,  watching  their  sub 
sequent  efforts  to  fly,  with  just  such  a  flitting  smile. 
They  would  whirr  their  wings  helplessly  for  a  second 
or  two,  and  then  deliberately  turn  their  long  bodies 
over  their  heads  in  a  species  of  leisurely  back  sum 
mersault.  She  had  the  same  sense  of  amusement 
now  in  noting  the  actions  and  words  of  the  child  op 
posite  her,  after  her  fourth  glass  of  Tokay  :  besides, 
she  was  learning  all  that  she  wished  to  know,  in  the 
easiest  and  most  detailed  manner. 

"  So  she  wears  this  ring  on  a  ribbon  around  her 
neck  ?"    she    asked,   finally.      "  What   color   is   it, 


"  The  ring,  or  the  ribbon  ?"  demanded  Lotta,  as 
solemnly  as  though  aifairs  of  state  depended  upon 
the  reply. 

"  The  ring." 

"  The  ring  is  blue,  —  a  black-blue.  The  ribbon  is 
white.  I  asked  her  why  she  did  not  wear  it  on  her 
finger,  and  she  said,  l  Because/  That  was  only  last 
night.  I  slept  with  her.  Nini  pinched  me,  and  I 
went  to  Cousine  Ilva's  room  in  the  middle  of  the 
night,  and  she  was  sitting  up  reading  her  Bible  in 
her  chemise,  and  I  saw  the  ring  around  her  throat. 
I  will  have  ten  rings  when  I  have  a  lover,  one  for 
each  finger,  and  they  must  be  of  ten  different  colors, 
and  I  think  I  will  have  little  bars  of  music  cut  on 


128  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

them  instead  of  words.  Tra  !  la  !  la  !  Tra  !  la  !  la  ! 
Just  fancy  !  I  could  hold  up  my  hands  and  one 
could  play  a  tune  on  the  piano  by  looking  at  them. 
Oh,  madame,  why,  why  do  I  say  such  things?  I 
am  not  so  silly  usually,  nor  impertinent.  I  talk  too 
much,  but  not  so  much  as  I  have  to-day,  and  then 
I  cannot  stop.  My  mind  seems  to  be  running  on  a 
little  track,  with  steam  to  push  it.  If  I  let  it  stop, 
it  will  run  off  the  track  and  break,  or  so  it  seems 
to  me.  Do  you  know,  madame,  I  believe  my  head 
is  lined  with  that  lovely  yellow  wine?  I  seem  to 
see  with  the  backs  of  my  eyes  as  well  as  with  the 
fronts  of  them,  and  my  head  is  such  a  lovely  pink 
inside,  with  a  lining  of  that  yellow  wine.  I  feel  as 
though  I  must  come  into  your  arms  and  put  my 
head  just  there  on  that  little  crease  in  your  bodice. 
I  fancy  that  your  heart  is  under  it.  I  want  you  to 
love  me,  madame.  I  beg  you  to  love  me.  I  beg 
you  to  tell  me  that  you  love  me.  Oh,  I  shall  be  so 
unhappy,  so  desolated,  if  you  do  not  say  that  you 
love  me  !  And,  madame," — she  held  up  a  slender 
finger  of  warning,  and  fastened  her  swimming  gray 
eyes  on  those  of  Nadrovine's  mother, — "and,  ma 
dame,"  she  repeated,  "you  must  mean  it.  I  could 
not  bear  it  if  you  did  not  mean  it.  It  would  be 
nothing  to  me.  I  would  weep  indeed.  Oh,  I  feel 
as  though  there  were  a  whole  ocean  behind  my  eyes 
waiting  to  turn  into  tears  at  the  first  cross  word." 
She  dropped  her  little,  dark  head  on  the  table, 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  129 

nearly  into  her  plate,  and  fenced  it  about  with  her 
small  fingers.  "  Oh  !  oh  !"  she  sobbed,  "  do  not  let 
any  one  be  harsh  to  me  !  I  could  not  bear  it !  I 
could  not  bear  it !  Oh,  I  do  not  mean  to  weep  ! 
Why,  why  is  it?  I  do  not  cry  easily.  No  one  has 
been  harsh  to  me ;  and  I  do  so  wish  to  be  silent. 
Why  is  it  that  I  talk  on  and  on  ?  Oh,  if  you  would 
— only  love  me,  rnadame  !" 

Madame  Nadrovine  rose,  biting  her  lips,  and  drew 
the  airy  figure  into  her  arms. 

"  There,  there !"  she  said,  soothingly.  She  adored 
children,  and  this  one  was  peculiarly  adorable.  She 
pressed  her  very  close,  and  nipped  the  little,  moist 
cheek  with  her  strong  lips.  "  There,  there !"  she 
repeated,  "  I  do  love  you.  You  are  a  little  darling. 
I  wish  you  were  mine.  You  are  the  dearest  little 
dark-light  in  all  the  world.  Your  hair  is  like  a 
mass  of  sun-rays  that  have  been  turned  black  for 
shining  on  naughty  things.  Your  little  mouth  would 
woo  a  woman  from  thoughts  of  her  lover.  You  are 
a  little  love,  love,  love,"  she  crooned,  rocking  the 
distressed  elf  caressingly  and  singing  the  words  to  a 
minor  air.  "  My  little  love,  love,  love.  And  I  love 
you  with  all  my  heart.  There,  now,  go  to  sleep. 
There,  now,  go  to  sleep.  Go  to  sleep."  She  rocked 
her  back  and  forth  unceasingly,  chanting  the  word 
"  sleep"  in  various  keys,  until  the  child  was  actually 
sleeping  on  her  breast.  Then  she  loosened  her  arms, 
and  looked  down  at  the  slight  relaxed  figure  in  its 


130  THE   WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

pearl-gray  riding-habit,  stretched  limply  across  her 
knees.  She  lifted  one  of  the  little  half-curled  hands 
and  kissed  its  pale-rose  palm  twice,  with  soft,  long 
kisses.  The  child's  hair  was  damp,  and  matted 
upon  her  forehead.  Madame  Nadrovine  lifted  it, 
and  fanned  the  warm  brow  with  a  crumpled  napkin. 
Lotta  slept  on  undisturbed.  Her  relaxed  lips  formed 
a  piteous  arch,  her  slightly-marked,  delicate  brows 
twitched  uneasily  with  her  dreams.  She  moved 
abruptly  now  and  then,  and  tossed  her  slender 
limbs  about. 

Madame  Nadrovine  smiled  again,  shook  her  head, 
and  drew  the  parted  lips  together  in  a  really  tender  kiss. 

"  May  you  never  be  intoxicated  with  anything 
more  dangerous  than  Tokay,  you  witchling  !"  she 
muttered. 

Nadrovine  entered,  and  found  her  bending  over 
the  child,  who  still  slept  heavily.  He  came  towards 
them,  looking  anxious. 

"  Asleep  ?"  he  said.  "  What  is  wrong  ?  Asleep 
at  this  time  in  the  morning  ?  I  fear  she  isn't  well. 
She  looks  like  a  delicate  little  thing." 

"  A  little  body  and  a  great  deal  of  soul/'  answered 
his  mother,  smiling  again.  "  But  she  may  have  ex 
hausted  herself.  She  insisted  on  keeping  up  with 
me  in  all  my  gallops." 

"  No  doubt  that  is  it/'  assented  Nadrovine.  "  But 
she  is  as  white  as  her  collar.  What  will  you  do 
with  her?" 


THE  WITNESS  OF   THE  SUN.  131 

"I  shall  order  a  trap  of  some  kind  and  drive 
with  her  at  once  to  the  Villa  Demarini,"  she  replied, 
serenely. 

Nadrovine  stooped  to  pick  up  her  napkin,  which 
had  fallen  near  his  feet. 

"  I  will  drive  you,"  he  said. 

"  But  do  not  look  so  worried,  Vladimir.  She  is 
only  tired,  I  am  sure.  An  hour's  nap  will  refresh 
her  absolutely.  You  see  how  quietly  she  sleeps  ?" 

"  Is  it  natural  for  sleeping  children  to  be  so  pale  ?" 

"  Sometimes." 

"  Well,  no  doubt  you  know  much  better  than  I, 
but  I  will  confess  that  I  don't  like  that  ghastly 
pallor.  A  trap  will  be  at  the  door  in  ten  minutes." 

He  left  the  room,  and  his  mother  sat  silently,  still 
rocking  the  sleeping  child,  and  smiling  to  herself 
from  time  to  time,  with  her  eyes  on  the  sea  beyond. 

XII. 

Madame  Nadrovine  got  into  the  phaeton  without 
changing  her  habit,  still  holding  Lotta  in  her  arms. 
She  tilted  the  child's  hat  abov€  her  face,  in  order  to 
prevent  the  white  morning  light  from  disturbing  her. 
Nadrovine  drove  the  little  chestnut  cobs  in  silence, 
wondering  less  regarding  this  whim  of  his  mother's 
than  as  to  how  much  Lotta  'had  revealed  to  her. 
The  sea  had  that  air  of  freshness  which  convinces 
one  that  it  has  just  been  created, — a  long  sparkle 
of  cold  blue  against  a  belt  of  fawn-brown  sand,  like 


132  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

a  band  of  sapphires  against  the  skin  of  a  mulatto. 
One  felt  the  unsunned  wind  between  one's  eyelids 
in  a  cool  kiss,  sweet  with  opening  flowers  as  the  hair 
of  a  woman  moist  with  sleep.  The  moon  floated 
overhead,  a  shred  of  light  on  the  dark  cobalt  of  the 
sky.  There  were  clouds  near  the  horizon,  small 
puffs  of  silver-white  and  green-gray.  This  cool, 
trembling  morning,  however,  signified  a  hot  noon. 
It  was  as  full  of  the  promise  of  mid-day  as  a  girl's 
kiss  of  the  passion  of  womanhood.  One  knew  that 
four  hours  later  the  moon  would  have  melted  from 
sight,  that  the  sea  would  plunge  heavily  in  waves 
as  of  oil,  that  the  crisp  wind  would  sink  to  a  sultry 
sigh  along  the  hot,  steaming  sands,  and  that  to  look 
at  the  copper  dome  of  the  sky  would  cause  one  about 
as  much  pleasure  as  to  write  an  ode  to  the  Queen  of 
the  Salamanders  on  an  August  afternoon  in  Tangiers. 

In  the  Villa  Demarini  no  one  seemed  awake. 
There  was  a  gardener's  boy  training  the  geraniums 
on  one  of  the  terraces,  and  a  black  caniche  seriously 
regarding  the  sea  with  ears  erect.  He  was  so  ab 
sorbed  in  his  contemplation  that  he  did  not  even 
bark  as  the  phaeton  drove  up. 

The  gardener's  boy,  however,  dropped  his  shears, 
and  came  somewhat  sheepishly  to  hold  the  horses 
while  Nadrovine  got  down  and  extended  his  arms 
for  Lotta. 

"  But  what  is  one  to  do  ?"  asked  his  mother,  making 
no  movement  to  resign  the  child  to  him,  and  looking 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  133 

up  at  the  closed  blinds.  "  One  can't  leave  the  poor 
mouse  on  the  veranda,  and  yet  one  doesn't  wish  to 
rouse  the  whole  house.'' 

The  gardener's  boy  touched  his  hat. 

"Gracious  madam,"  said  he,  with  a  glutinous 
German  accent,  "the  young  gentlemen  are  awake, 
but  they  are  hiding  for  fear  that  the  young  lady  is 
killed.  They  stopped  to  talk  to  some  boys  on  the 
shore,  and  the  Fran  lei  n  galloped  away.  They 
thought  that  perhaps  she  was  drowned.  The  Friiu- 
lein  Ilva  was  bathing,  and  I  told  her.  She  rode 
off  on  Herr  Georges's  pony.  She  has  been  gone 
half  an  hour.  No  one  else  is  awake.  The  Friiu- 
lein  and  her  brothers  ride  always  alone  at  this  hour 
in  the  morning." 

"  In  what  direction  did  the  Signoriua  Ilva  go  ?" 
asked  Nadrovine,  quickly.  . 

"  Towards  the  village,  mein  Herr.  Shall  I  awaken 
the  nurse-maid  ?" 

"Suppose  we  drive  towards  the  village  and  try 
to  meet  her?"  suggested  Nadrovine  to  his  mother. 
"  She  must  have  turned  back  by  this  time." 

Just  at  this  moment  the  short  strokes  of  a  pony's 
legs  sounded  on  the  gravel,  and  Ilva  approached 
them,  her  gown  of  pale-blue  gingham  modelled 
damply  to  her  shoulders  and  arms,  her  thick  hair 
uncoiling  at  her  throat,  hatless,  gloveless,  even  shoe 
less,  in  her  haste.  She  was  paler  than  Lotta,  and 
her  lips  quivered.  Nadrovine  lifted  her  from  the 
12 


134  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

pony  without  even  greeting  her,  and  assisted  her 
into  the  phaeton  beside  his  mother.  She  could  not 
speak,  but  put  her  hand  on  Lotta's  little  body  and 
began  to  draw  deep  breaths,  the  color  running 
gradually  back  into  lips  and  cheeks. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  have  been  sadly  frightened,"  said 
Madame  Nadrovine,  at  last.  "  It  was  very  thought 
less  of  me  to  keep  the  child,  but  she  fascinated  me  so 
that  I  was  scarcely  responsible.  She  is  a  perfect 
little  Rosalind  with  a  Titania's  body,  and  of  such 
a  charming  order  of  beauty." 

"  This  is  my  mother,  signorina,"  said  Nadrovine. 

"  I — I — thank  you  !"  replied  the  girl,  and  then 
blushed  intensely.  "  I  mean,  I  am  most  happy  to 
know  you,  madame !  Signor  Nadrovine  has  spoken 
much  about  you.  Will  you  tell  me  how  you  found 
her?  Was  she  thrown?  Is  she  unconscious,  or 
only  asleep?  Her  mother  worships  her  so.  It 
would  have  killed  her." 

"  Oh,  I  think  she  is  merely  exhausted,"  answered 
Madame  Nadrovine.  "  If  she  could  be  undressed 
without  waking  her " 

"What  is  all  this?"  cried  a  voice  behind  them. 
"Has  anything  happened  to  the  child?"  A  tall 
figure  approached, — the  figure  of  a  man  with  closely- 
curling  dark  hair,  soaked  from  his  sea-bath,  a  large, 
aquiline  nose  finely  cut,  clear  lips,  pale  but  hand 
some,  and  the  complexion  of  a  seckel  pear. 

"  Madame  Nadrovine  !"  he  exclaimed. 


THE.  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  135 

"Myself,  count,"  she  replied,  bowing  slightly. 
Her  eyes  wore  an  amused  expression  above  her 
grave  mouth. 

"  Dear  papa,"  said  Ilva,  "  will  you  lift  Lotta  out 
and  carry  her  up-stairs  ?  I  would  like  to  put  her  to 
bed  before  Aunt  Cecilia  wakes." 

Her  father  held  out  his  arms  mechanically,  and 
Madame  Nadrovine  lifted  Lotta's  little  limp  form 
upon  them. 

"Do  not  jar  her,  count,"  she  enjoined.  There 
were  veiled  sparkles  of  mischief  in  her  verdant  eyes 
as  she  watched  him  ascend  the  steps  of  the  veranda 
with  the  sleeping  child  in  his  arms. 

"  Will  you  not  have  a  glass  of  wine,  madame  ?" 
asked  Ilva,  somewhat  nervously,  as  her  father  disap 
peared.  She  was  painfully  conscious  of  her  dishev 
elled  appearance  in  contrast  with  the  complete  attire 
of  the  woman  in  the  black  habit  and  top-hat.  She 
felt  that  those  eyes,  with  their  jade-colored  high  lights, 
were  taking  her  in  from  head  to  foot,  and  that  her 
damp  gingham  gown  was  attracting  their  criticism. 

"  I  will  get  you  a  glass  of  wine  myself,"  she  re 
peated,  vaguely. 

Madame  Nadrovine  made  a  gesture  of  negation 
with  her  handsome,  ungloved  hand. 

"  Thanks  !"  she  replied.  "  I  have  had  my  grapes 
and  coffee,  and  also  a  glass  of  Tokay.  I  fear  we  are 
detaining  you,  mademoiselle.  We  will  call  again  to 
ask  after  the  little  Lotta." 


136  THE  WITNESS   OF  THE  SUN. 

"You  will  have  nothing?"  asked  Ilva,  disap 
pointed  in  spite  of  herself.  "  It  will  not  take  a  mo 
ment.  My  aunt  will  wish  to  thank  you." 

"Nothing  will  afford  me  more  pleasure  than  to 
give  her  another  opportunity,"  rejoined  Madame 
Nadrovine,  graciously.  She  made  a  few  more 
amiable  remarks,  and  was  driven  off  by  her  son 
just  as  Count  Demarini  appeared  on  the  veranda, 
having  consigned  Lotta  to  her  nurse. 

"  This  afternoon,"  Nadrovine  had  whispered  to 
Ilva  as  he  passed  her  to  get  into  the  phaeton.  Her 
heart  was  throbbing  with  emotions  as  contradictory 
as  strange,  when  her  father  ran  hurriedly  down  the 
steps  and  put  his  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"How  long  have  you  known  Madame  Nadro- 
vine  ?"  he  asked,  abruptly. 

Ilva  lifted  to  him  her  frankly  surprised  eyes.- 

"  What  a  coincidence  that  you  should  know  her 
so  well,  papa !"  she  said.  "  I  have  met  her  this 
morning  for  the  first  time.  How  beautiful  she  is ! 
It  is  almost  unearthly.  Her  eyes  are  like  a  Lo 
relei's,  so  green  and  liquid, — just  the  tint  in  a 
hollowing  wave.  Where  did  you  know  her,  papa?" 
"  She  has  been  the  beauty  of  Paris  for  two  seasons. 
Is  she  to  be  here  long?  I  thought  her  in  Hom- 
bourg." 

"  She  is  to  spend  the  summer  with  Signor  Nadro- 
vine,  her  son.  How  absurd,  papa,  that  she  should 
have  a  son  as  old  as  that !  She  looks  like  his  elder 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  137 

sister.  What  strange,  strange  eyes  !  All  the  green 
lights  of  heaven  and  earth  seem  to  shine  in  them 
alternately, — the  light  of  water,  of  grass,  of  glow 
worms,  of  stars,  of  lightning,  of  peacocks7  breasts, 
of  precious  stones.  But,  dear  papa,  I  have  not  said 
e  how  do  you  do  ?7  to  you.  I  sat  up  very  late  last 
night  to  welcome  you,  but  they  said  that  the  train 
was  three  hours  late,  and  so  I  went  to  bed.  Have 
you  been  here  long  ?" 

"  An  hour, — two  hours,  perhaps.  What  is  the 
matter  with  the  child?'7 

"WithLotta?" 

"  Yes.'7 

"  I  do  not  know.  Nothing  serious,  I  am  sure. 
Madame  Nadrovine  said  that  it  was  probably  ex 
haustion.77 

She  was  rather  in  awe  of  her  father,  but  took  his 
hand  and  kissed  it  shyly,  while  he  stood  silent,  pull 
ing  the  ears  of  the  caniche,  who  was  fawning  upon 
him  with  wriggling  body  and  lapping  tongue. 

He  smiled  absently  and  stroked  her  cheek  and 
throat.  He  was  proud  of  her  beauty  and  talents, 
but  utterly  unfamiliar  with  herself.  She  was  a 
school-girl  still,  and  he  might  as  well'  have  tried  to 
take  interest  in  an  expurgated  edition  of  .the  poets. 

"  Dear  papa,  it  seems  so  long  since  I  have  seen 
you !"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice.  She  pressed  timidly 
against  him,  feeling  the  need  of  parental  love  to 
complete  the  love  of  the  lover.  Her  mother  was 


138  THE  WITS  ESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

the  last  person  in  the  world  from  whom  she  would 
have  sought  sympathy,  either  openly  or  surrepti 
tiously,  but  her  father,  though  seldom  at  home,  and 
rarely  noticing  her,  was  always  amiable  on  those 
occasions  when  he  did  condescend  to  pay  her  some 
little  attention.  As  for  the  girl,  she  loved  him  with 
that  blind  and  idealized  affection  which  imaginative 
people  sometimes  bestow  on  those  whom  custom  bids 
them  revere,  regardless  of  circumstances.  His  slight 
caress  thrilled  her  very  heart's  core,  and  she  longed 
to  hide  her  face  on  his  knees  and  tell  him  of  her 
love  for  Nadrovine  and  ask  his  approval.  She  was 
frightened  at  the  wonderful  reality  which  life  had 
suddenly  assumed.  All  her  past  seemed  receding, 
like  a  chaos  of  dreams  from  which  one  has  been 
roused  by  a  fall.  She  longed  for  some  one  to  assure 
her  that  other  women  had  given  themselves,  their 
ambitions,  their  ideas,  their  hopes,  as  utterly  as  she 
had  done. 

"  You  love  me,  papa  ?"  she  said,  impulsively,  look 
ing  down  at  his  hand  which  she  still  held,  that  he 
might  not  see  the  tears  which  blurred  her  eyes.  He 
started.  A  tear  had  fallen  on  his  hand.  Ilva  wiped 
it  hurriedly  away  with  one  of  her  own. 

"Love  you,  my  little  Silverhair?  Why,  of 
course!  Why  are  you  crying?  Is  Miss  Herbert 
harsh  ?  I  must  speak  to  her." 

"  No,  no,  papa,"  said  the  girl. 

"Then  what  is  it?     Why  do  you  cry?"      His 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  139 

voice  had  an  impatient  ring,  which  she  detected 
instantly  in  spite  of  her  agitation. 

"  Lotta !  it  was  Lotta  !"  she  hastened  to  assure 
him.  "  I  was  so  alarmed  about  her.  I  wondered 
if  you  or — or  mamma  would  be  so  much  grieved 
if  I  were  to  be  hurt, — to  die,  perhaps.  Oh,  papa, 
do  not  notice  me !  I  am  very  silly.  I  am  thor 
oughly  unnerved.  I  expected  to  come  across  the 
poor  little  thing  lying  dead  at  every  corner  that  I 
turned." 

"Poor  little  cat!"  said  her  father,  fondling  her 
shoulder.  "  Too  bad  !  too  bad  !  I  must  speak  to 
Cecilia  about  letting  the  children  ride  alone.  There, 
now !  go  and  change  your  clothes,  my  dear,  and  lie 
down.  Have  you  a  book  to  read?  There  is  Feuil- 
let's  'Roman  cl'im  jeune  Homme  pauvre:'  you  are 
old  enough  to  read  that,  I  should  think.  It  has  an 
excellent  moral.  It  ought  to  be  in  the  library,  on 
the  second  shelf  of  the  bookcase,  near  the  door.  Or 
*  I  Promessi  Sposi :'  you  -  might  read  that.  Tell 
your  mother  that  you  have  my  permission." 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  girl,  biting  her  lips  to 
repress  a  smile.  Evidently  her  father  did  not  know 
that  since  she  could  first  read  she  might  have  perused 
every  book  in  the  house  without  fear  of  interruption. 
"  Thank  you,  papa,"  she  repeated,  and  began  to  walk 
slowly  away  in  the  direction  of  the  house.  They 
had  been  standing  near  the  edge  of  the  terrace. 

Count   Demarini   called   on    Madame  Nadrovine 


140  THE    WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

that  afternoon,  to  take  her  the  heart-felt  thanks  of 
Lotta's  mother  and  his  wife,  who  were  both  too 
much  overcome  by  the  child's  still  somnolent  inclina 
tions  to  appear  in  person.  They  were  afraid  of  sun 
stroke,  and  sat  all  day  fanning  the  slumberer,  one  on 
each  side  of  her  little  bed,  with  expressions  of  con 
trolled  apprehension. 

Madame  Nadrovine  was  alone  when  the  footman 
announced  Demarini,  teaching  Scud  to  sing,  by 
striking  dismal  chords  on  a  mandolin  and  pulling 
his  ear  to  accentuate  the  torture. 

"How  is  the  poor  little  one?"  she  said,  placing 
the  mandolin  on  the  floor  at  her  side,  and  resuming 
her  rings,  which  she  had  taken  off  to  facilitate  the 
singing-lesson. 

Demarini  seated  himself  opposite  her,  fondling 
the  fox-terrier's  head  much  as  he  had  fondled  that 
of  his  daughter  during  the  past  morning.  He  kept 
his  eyes  on  Madame  Nadrovine's  hands,  while  she 
kept  hers  upon  his  downcast  lids. 

"  They  fear  a  sunstroke,"  he  replied. 

"  Ah  !  bah  !"  shrugged  she,  "  what  a  thing  it  is 
to  have  children]  What  cowards  they  make  of  one ! 
The  child  was  worn  out." 

"  Yes,  probably,"  assented  Demarini.  He  re 
turned  her  compelling  gaze  presently. 

"I  thought  you  were  in  Hombourg?"  he  said, 
under  his  breath. 

She  lifted  her  brows  until  there  were  two  or  three 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  141 

fine  wrinkles  in   her  smooth   forehead,  tuning   the 
mandolin  meanwhile  to  another  key. 

"And  so  I  was.  What  would  you  have?  One 
can't  stay  in  one  place  forever  ?" 

"  One  could/7  said  Demarini,  uncertainly,  "  if  one 
were  permitted,"  he  added,  in  a  low  voice. 

"One  could  do  numberless  things  if  one  were 
permitted,"  replied  Madame  Nad ro vine. 

Again  Demarini  looked  at  her, — a  flashing  look. 

It  lit  up  his  swarthy  face  like  the  gleam  from  an 

almost   extinguished  fire  on  the  ceiling  of  a  dark 

room. 

*  "  Do  you  think  I  knew  you  were  here  ?"  he  asked. 

"I?  Oh,  it  is  much  too  warm  to  think.  Besides, 
coincidences  fill  up  every  inexplicable  gap  in  life." 

"  You  know  that  I  would  not  have  come  when  it 
was  not  your  wish.  I  would  not  have  called  this 
afternoon  save  to  explain  my  presence  in  your  neigh 
borhood." 

She  made  him  a  little  bow,  full  of  mockery  and 
a  teasing  amusement. 

"  I  am  in  your  debt,  monsieur." 

He  half  started  to  his  feet. 

"  You  are  not  angry  ?  You  do  not  bid  me  go, 
Sereda?" 

"  Pardon  me,  count,  I  took  a  slight  cold  in  sleep 
ing  near  an  open  window  on  my  way  from  Hom- 
bourg.  It  has  made  me  a  little  deaf.  Will  you 
have  the  kindness  to  repeat  that  last  sentence  ?" 


142  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

He  stood  before  her,  grasping  his  hat  in  both 
hands,  the  veins  in  his  temples  swelling. 

"  You  know  that  I  love  you  to  madness,"  he  said, 
controlling  himself.  "I  have  called  you  by  your 
name  before.  You  know  that  I  had  rather  be 
laughed  at  by  you  than  caressed  by  any  other.  You 
own  me  absolutely,  body  and  soul." 

"And  you  own  a  charming  daughter.  She  is 
like  a  young  Psyche,  a  Psyche  who  will  neVer 
make  the  mistake  of  dropping  hot  oil  on  her 
Cupid.  She  will  peep  at  him  by  moonlight  or  the 
reflection  of  a  star  in  a  mirror.  But  that  damp 
blue  cotton  gown  was  as  charming  on  her  pretty 
bust  as  a  peplos." 

"  Do  you  tell  me  to  go  ?" 

"  My  dear  Demarini,  if  I  told  you  to  go  you  would 
assuredly  stay." 

"  I  would  do  what  you  told  me." 

"  Do  what  you  wish,  I  pray  you." 

"  You  are  ungenerous." 

"  I  have  tried  to  overcome  that  fault  in  vain." 

"You  torture  me?" 

"  Your  endurance  is  that  of  a  hero." 

"  You  know  that  I  only  live  for  your  pleasure." 

"  I  fear  that  your  sacrifice  is  vain." 

"Sereda!" 

"  I  beg  of  you,  monsieur.  My  name  is  not  ugly 
enough  to  be  picturesque.  There  is  an  English 
rhyme  that  I  remember : 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  143 

" '  Call  me  Daphne,  call  me  Chloris, 
Call  me  Lalage  or  Doris.' 

There  are  four  names  to  choose  from.     Any  substi 
tute  will  do." 

Demarini  missed  an  excellent  opportunity  by  his 
lack  of  knowledge.  With  what  an  air  he  could 
have  finished  the  quotation,  "Only,  only  call  me 
thine !" 

Madame  Nadrovine  had  taken  an  unfair  advan 
tage  of  his  ignorance  of  English. 

He  could  only  repeat  himself  passionately  : 

"  But  you  do  not  tell  me  to  go  ?  You  do  not  tell 
me  to  leave  Italy  ?  Oh  !  que  je  GUIS  fou  !  Que  je 
vous  adore  !  Que  je  vous  adore  /" 

He  caught  the  loose  sleeve  of  her  gown  and  pressed 
it  against  his  lips. 

"It  is  not  yet  paid  for,"  she  laughed,  regarding 
him  lazily.  "It  is  the  property  of  Felix  that  you 
are  caressing." 

"  You  wear  it :  that  is  sufficient.  Why  do  you 
always  mock  me?" 

"  That  I  may  not  be  mocked  myself." 

"You  do  not  hate  me?" 

"  I  have  not  capacity  for  so  extreme  an  exertion." 

"  And  I  may  call  upon  you  ?" 

1    "  If  you  will  take  the  chance  of  finding  me  out 
when  you  call." 

"  It  is  enough  to  live  under  the  same  constellations 
that  shine  above  you." 


144  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

"  And  what  when  it  is  cloudy  ?" 

"  It  is  better  to  share  clouds  with  you  than  sun 
shine  with  another." 

"  You  deserve  something  for  that  speech." 

"What?  what,  Sereda?" 

"A  kind  message  to  take  back  in  regard  to  the 
little  Lotta.  Say  that  I  will  call  to-morrow  after 
noon  to  drive  her  in  my  phaeton.  And  now  I  must 
pray  you  to  excuse  me,"  she  concluded,  looking  at  a 
little  watch  which  hung  from  a  thread-like  bracelet 
on  her  left  arm.  "  I  have  only  three-quarters  of 
an  hour  in  which  to  make  my  toilet  for  dinner. 
Say  to  the  little  one  that  I  love  her  dearly  and  await 
our  next  interview  with  impatience." 

She  took  a  cigarette  from  her  case,  after  extend 
ing  it  to  Demarini,  who  extracted  one  eagerly  with 
trembling  fingers,  and  lighted  it  unconcernedly  as 
he  left  the  room.  He  saw  her  slightly  smiling  face, 
with  its  placid,  downcast  lids,  in  the  pale  light  of 
the  fuse,  as  he  glanced  back  at  her  before  letting  the 
folds  of  the  portiere  fall  between  them.  Scud  had 
jumped  up  in  her  lap,  and  was  lapping  her  smooth 
chin  with  his  thin  pink  tongue. 

"The  little  beast!"  said  Demarini,  shutting  his 
teeth  hard  on  the  last  word.  He  had  the  aversion 
of  most  men  to  seeing  a  pet  dog  in  contact  with  a 
woman,  and  when  that  woman  was  the  object  of  the 
sincerest  folly  of  his  life  it  became  insupportable. 
He  would  have  wrung  the  dog's  neck  without  the 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  145 

slightest  compunction,  could  he  have  been  sure  of 
remaining  undiscovered. 

XIII. 

No  sooner  had  Demarini  left  the  house  than  Ma 
dame  Nadrovine's  whole  aspect  changed  entirely. 
She  threw  the  just-lighted  cigarette  from  her,  and 
watched  it  smoke  of  itself  on  the  red  tiles  of  the 
floor,  holding  either  arm  of  her  chair  and  caressing 
her  under  lip  with  her  tongue,  in  absolute  absorp 
tion.  Scud  touched  the  half-extinguished  cigarette 
with  his  inquisitive  black  nose,  and  sprang  back 
uttering  a  short  howl  of  pain,  to  seek  protection  in 
the  skirts  of  his  mistress.  She  stroked  his  dapper 
little  head  absently,  her  great  eyes  fixed  on  the  floor 
a  yard  or  two  beyond. 

"  I  have  it,  Scud  !"  she  exclaimed,  finally.  "  It 
is  as  clear  as  your  eyes,  my  beauty  !"  She  hugged 
him  in  the  nook  of  her  arm  as  though  he  had  been 
a  child,  and  he  cuddled  up  to  her,  making  little  wet 
noises  of  pleasure  with  his  flexible  tongue. 

"  We  shall  see  what  he  will  have  to  tell  me  next 
Tuesday,  little  sleek  one  !  Now  kiss  my  ear  because 
I  have  confided  in  you,  petit !" 

Scud  saluted  the  salmon-pink  ear  turned  to  him, 
with  rapturous  iteration.  He  looked  into  her  face 
precisely  as  if  he  understood  everything,  and  then 
pushed  a  soft  paw  into  her  cheek  as  a  baby  pushes 
its  soft  hand.  He  was  an  exceedingly  human  little 
G  k  13 


146  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

beast.  Madame  Nadrovine  felt  as  though  she  had 
really  confided  her  plan  to  an  approving  friend.  She 
kissed  the  little  dog  twice  on  the  top  of  his  smooth 
head,  and  then  put  him  down  from  her  lap. 

The  next  day  she  called  again  at  the  Villa  Dema- 
rini,  to  inquire  after  Mademoiselle  Boutry.  Ilva 
was  the  first  to  enter  the  drawing-room.  She  had 
on  a  Roman  shirt,  and  her  bare  throat  rose  charm 
ingly  from  its  loose  folds.  Madame  Nadrovine 
noted  the  extreme  beauty  of  her  slight  hands  and 
wrists.  Her  blond  hair  was  arranged  loosely  in  a 
strange  coiffure :  one  could  not  tell  where  it  began 
or  ended.  It  looked  as  though  her  head  were  cased 
in  a  helmet  of  silverish  gold.  "  Lotta  seems  quite 
herself  to-day,"  she  said,  adding,  half  awkwardly, 
"  She  seems  also  in  love  with  you,  rnadame." 

"  I  fear,  then,  that  she  is  fickle,  mademoiselle/' 
smiled  Nadrovine's  mother.  "  Yesterday  she  was 
your  ardent  slave." 

"Sensitive  children  are  always  won  by  beauty," 
replied  Ilva,  and  then  flushed,  feeling  that  she  had 
said  something  bluntly  flattering. 

"  How  gauche  !  how  utterly  unsophisticated !"  said 
Madame  Nadrovine  to  herself.  "  But  she  has  a 
wonderful  profile, — like  those  on  old  coins.  And 
what  a  figure ! — the  hips  of  a  girl  and  the  breast 
of  a  goddess  !" 

Ilva,  wishing  to  appear  at  her  best,  naturally  ap 
peared  at  her  worst.  Madame  Nadrovine  left,  won- 


THE    WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  147 

dering  what  Vladimir  saw  in  the  child  beyond  that 
beauty  of  youth  which  the  adored  and  the  adorer  so 
soon  outgrow. 

She  called  to  Nadrovine  that  evening  as  he  was 
returning  with  the  pressure  of  the  girl's  lips  yet 
pulsing  upon  his. 

He  approached  slowly.  She  was  pulling  the  dried 
leaves  from  some  heliotrope-plants,  her  purplish-black 
hair  falling  in  a  heavy  plait  far  below  her  waist. 
Some  of  the  violet  heliotrope-branches  were  thrust 
through  the  girdle  of  yellow  brocade. 

"I  called  at  the  Villa  Demarini  this  morning, 
Vladimir,"  she  said,  without  pausing  in  her  occupa 
tion.  "The  little  one  has  quite  recovered.  And  I 
saw  that  pretty  young  girl  again.  She  is  as  adorably 
lovely  as  she  is  deplorably  silly." 

"  Silly,  small  one  ?"  asked  Nadrovine,  with  a  smile 
whose  complaisance  goaded  his  mother  to  a  frown. 
"  In  what  did  her  silliness  consist  ?" 

"  Oh,  as  for  that,  I  do  not  recall  exactly.  It  was 
the  general  impression.  But,-  of  course,  if  she  is  not 
silly  in  your  eyes  I  accept  your  judgment,  you  have 
known  her  so  much  longer  than  I  have." 

"  Since  she  was  a  child  of  ten,"  replied  Nadrovine. 

"Indeed?"  said  his  mother.  She  drew  down  a 
yellow  rose  which  drooped  from  a  trellis  overhead, 
and  began  stripping  it  of  its  blighted  outer  leaves. 
"It  is  strange  what  opposite  impressions  different 
people  make  on  different  people." 


148  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

"  Yes ;  I  have  thought  that,"  admitted  Nadrovine. 

His  mother  changed  the  conversation  with  her 
usual  unfailing  tact.  An  hour  later  they  were 
dining  alone  together,  the  last  flush  of  sunset  striking 
across  the  silver  and  glass  of  the  dinner- table  and 
firing  Madame  Nadrovine's  thick  hair. 

"  I  suppose  you  have  heard  of  Neivensky's  mar 
riage  ?"  she  said,  holding  her  interlaced  hands  about 
her  small  claret-glass.  "  Of  course  it  will  be  the  end 
of  his  career." 

"  Why  ?"  asked  Nadrovine.  He  was  thinking  of 
that  last  look  in  Ilva's  eyes, — a  look  of  intense  love 
and  pleading.  "  I  fear  your  mother  does  not  like 
me.  Try  to  make  her  like  me,"  she  had  said  to 
him.  She  had  held  him  from  her  except  for  that 
last  kiss.  "  I  feel  that  she  would  not  wish  it,"  she 
had  whispered.  And  she  had  agreed  with  him  that 
it  was  best  not  to  tell  either  his  mother  or  her  own 
until  a  week  had  passed. 

"It  would  be  so  much  to  happen  all  at  once.  I 
will  be  so  thankful  to  have  my  heart  beat  quietly 
for  a  little  while."  Those  were  her  words  at  parting. 
He  had  not  touched  her,  except  to  take  from  her  that 
one  kiss,  not  yet  the  kiss  of  a  lover, — she  lifted  her 
lips  so  frankly.  He  could  not  bear  to  rouse  her 
from  her  ethereal  dreams.  She  would  only  love  him 
more  when  she  comprehended. 

"Why?"  he  repeated. 

"  Oh,  it  goes  without  saying,"  answered  his  mother. 


THE    WITNESS   OF  THE  SUN.  149 

"She  is  a  little  country-girl, — as  lovely  as  one's 
dream  of  a  cool  brook  in  summer,  but  so  ignorant 
of  everything,  even  of  love,  which  she  undoubtedly 
possesses  in  great  quantities." 

"  You  have  seen  her,  then  ?"  said  Nadrovine. 

"  Twice.  Her  eyes  were  glued  on  him,  and  she 
spoke  to  one  without  turning  her  head.  If  there 
could  be  as  many  babies  as  disillusions  during  the 
next  six  years,  perhaps  they  might  be  happy." 

"  Do  you  think  the  only  hope  of  married  people 
lies  in  their  offspring  ?" 

"In  those  cases  where  men  of  genius  marry  com 
monplace  women,  I  do,  most  assuredly." 

"  And  what  when  men  of  genius  marry  women  of 
genius  ?" 

"  One  might  as  well  say,  '  How  if  man's  inclina 
tions  and  Heaven's  decrees  ran  in  the  same  direc 
tion?7  or,  'What  if  love  were  ever  given  by  two 
people  in  like  proportion  ?'  I  must  say,  Vladimir, 
that  outside  of  your  novels  your  remarks  are  the 
reverse  of  sagacious.  If  men  of  genius  were  to 
marry  women  of  genius,  the  story  of  the  garden  of 
Eden  would  sink  into  insignificance,  and  one  would 
accept  the  grave  cheerfully  as  the  consummation  of 
such  an  existence,  smiling  at  the  idea  of  a  heaven 
where  there  is  no  marriage  nor  giving  in  marriage." 

"  But  you  believe  in  the  marriage  of  true  minds  ?" 
ventured  her  son. 

"  It  is  a  union  as  vague  as  that  of  Saint  Cecilia 
13* 


150  THE    WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

and  her  heavenly  lover, — who,  by  the  way,  permit 
ted  her  to  be  beheaded !  After  all,  those  celestial 
unions  invariably  end  by  one  of  the  participants 
losing  their  heads :  do  you  not  think  so  ?"  She 
smiled  provokingly  with  her  long  eyes,  and  reached 
for  a  bunch  of  grapes,  holding  back  her  sleeve  with 
one  supple  hand. 

"  I  think  it  depends,"  said  Nadrovine,  beginning 
to  realize  that  the  task  of  breaking  his  engagement 
to  his  mother  would  not  be  an  easy  one.  "  It  de 
pends  upon  the  people,"  he  continued  ;  "  and  also 
upon  what  one  considers  a  '  celestial  union.' " 

"  Oh,  that  is  easy  enough  to  explain  !"  exclaimed 
Madame  Nadrovine.  "  It  is  where  souls  are  chiefly 
mentioned  and  bodies  are  regarded  as  mere  accidents ; 
where  love-looks  are  more  than  kisses,  and  words 
than  hand-pressures.  These  are  the  wings  of  love. 
Lovers  amuse  themselves  in  pulling  them  off,  as  little 
boys  find  occupation  in  maiming  flies.  When  this 
is  accomplished  and  love  is  left  crawling,  they  forget 
that  it  once  had  wings,  and  speak  of  it  as  though 
it  had  been  always  the  mere  grub  that  it  now  ap 
pears." 

"  That  is  not  your  real  idea  of  love,  I  am  sure, 
small  one,"  said  Nadrovine,  with  a  sudden  grip  of 
revulsion  which  he  conquered  at  once.  "  Pure  love 
sanctifies  the  body  which  it  inhabits.  And  its  wings 
grow  stronger  with  each  effort  to  fly, — like  the  wings 
of  a  young  bird.  A  true  man  cherishes  each  feather 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  151 

of  the  wings  of  love,  instead  of  attempting  to  pluck 
them  out.  You  have  some  reason  for  wishing  to 
tease  me  :  is  it  not  so  ?" 

His  mother  lifted  her  brows  slightly  without  look 
ing  at  him.  "  It  is  true,  then,  that  you  believe  what 
you  say  in  your  books  regarding  love  ?" 

"  Why  should  you  think  otherwise  ?" 

"  Merely  because  you  have  lived  nine-and-twenty 
years  in  the  world,  and  that  most  people  who  have 
lived  that  length  of  time  have  seen  it  that  it  is  not 
good." 

"  There  may  be  good  love  in  a  bad  world,  may 
there  not,  dear  small  one  ?" 

"  There  would  be  more  probability  of  bad  love  in 
a  good  world."  She  stopped  in  her  reckless  speech, 
noting  his  chilled  expression,  to  rise  and  droop  over 
him  with  her  exquisite  grace  of  motherhood. 

"How  seriously  you  take  my  frivolous  chatter, 
dear  great  one !"  she  said,  letting  her  lips  move 
against  his  cheek  in  forming  these  words.  "  Of 
course  there  is  good  love, — the  love  of  all  mothers 
for  their  children, — my  love  for  you !" 

This  short  conversation  served  to  show  her  how 
completely  in  earnest  he  was.  There  was  that  serious 
ness  of  speech  and  manner  which  only  accompanies 
a  great  and  sincere  passion.  There  would  not  be  the 
slightest  use  in  arguing  with  him :  of  that  she  was 
convinced  absolutely  and  at  once.  Any  frustration 
of  what  she  chose  to  consider  this  disastrous  affair 


152  THE   WITNESS   OF  THE  SUN. 

must  depend  upon  her,  and  upon  her  alone.  She 
was  quite  determined,  and  the  next  time  that  Dema- 
rini  called  he  found  her  in.  She  laughed  at  him, 
it  is  true,  and  lashed  him  unmercifully  with  her 
steely  wit,  but  she  did  not  forbid  him  to  repeat  his 
visit,  and  she  consented  to  ride  with  him  on  the  fol 
lowing  afternoon.  They  met  her  son,  his  daughter, 
and  Lotta  on  their  way  home. 

"  How  lovely,  how  lovely  your  mother  is !"  sighed 
the  girl.  "But  something  tells  me  that  she  will 
never  like  me." 

"  She  has  only  to  know  you/7  said  Nadrovine. 

"  But  it  will  be  so  hard  for  me  to  let  her  know 
me,  feeling  that  she  has  an  antipathy  for  me." 

Nadrovine  smiled  with  the  perfect  confidence  of 
a  man  thoroughly  in  love  regarding  his  lady's  powers 
of  charming. 

"  You  smile  because  you  think  that  I  am  ex 
aggerating,"  said  Ilva  ;  "  but  I  feel  such  an  absolute 
conviction  that  it  is  more  serious  than  you  think." 

They  were  walking  down  the  old  rose-garden 
towards  the  sea.  She  had  changed  her  habit  for  a 
gown  of  thin,  soft,  white  stuff  which  fell  in  supple 
plaits  close  to  her  slight  limbs.  There  was  an  old- 
silver  girdle  about  her  waist,  and  she  had  pulled  a 
branch  of  blush-roses  diagonally  through  it.  The 
pink  flowers  were  reflected  faintly  in  the  dull  silver. 
A  band  of  the  same  metal  held  her  elastic  hair  in 
place,  but  it  was  loosened  above  her  eyes,  which 


TEE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  153 

were  the  color  of.  the  sea  at  twilight,  under  her 
clear  brows.  Lotta  was  some  way  in  front  of  them, 
absorbed  in  her  dolls  and  Gaulois  the  caniche. 

"  I  feel  that  it  is  serious,"  said  Ilva,  raising  her 
eyes  to  his.  "I  feel  that  I  can  never  make  her 
like  me." 

"But,  doushka,  you  have  seen  her  how  many 
times  ? — once,  is  it  not  ?" 

"  And,  oh !  I  was  so  embarrassed,  I  could  think 
of  nothing.  I  stammered,  I  said  everything  wrong. 
She  must  have  thought  me  quite  a  little  fool ;  and 
I  could  see  even  in  that  short  time  that  to  be  foolish 
was  the  worst  of  all  in  her  eyes.  Generally  I  am 
so  calm.  I  have  never  known  what  it  is  to  feel  ill 
at  ease." 

"  You  were  too  anxious,  my  princess." 

"  Yes,  perhaps  that  was  it.  But  I  have  spoiled 
everything." 

"  You  have  spoiled  me,"  smiled  Nadrovine. 

"  In  what  way  ?     What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Why,  all  faces  are  so  meaningless  to  me  since  I 
have  seen  yours.  The  world  is  so  empty  where  you 
are  not.  It  makes  my  heart  beat  just  to  think  of 
your  eyes,  and  to  remember  your  lips " 

He  drew  her  to  him  by  her  slight  wrists. 

"  Dear  heart,  why  do  you  tremble  ?" 

"  You  are  trembling  too,"  she  whispered. 

"  It  is  because  I  love  you  so  much." 

"And  I " 


154  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

"Divide  my  love  by  all  the  stars  of  Italy,  and 
perhaps  yours  will  be  half  of  that." 

"  Multiply  your  love  by  every  snow-flake  that  has 
ever  fallen  in  Kussia,  and  perhaps  it  will  equal  one- 
tenth  of  mine." 

He  released  her  wrists  and  took  her  gently  but 
strongly  into  his  arms.  Her  lovely  blond  head  leaned 
back  against  his  breast,  her  lips  were  parted,  her  eyes 
fastened  upon  his.  A  sweet,  intense  pallor  swept  her 
face  from  brow  to  chin.  She  felt  the  deep  throbbing 
of  his  heart  beneath  her  cheek. 

"Ilva,"  he  said,  "I  have  never  kissed  you  as  a 
man  kisses  the  woman  whom  he  loves  above  all 
others,  and  who  has  promised  to  become  his  wife. 
Will  you  let  me  give  you  that  kiss  of  kisses  ?  It 
will  make  you  mine  forever.  No  ceremony,  no  words 
of  man,  could  seal  you  to  me  more  entirely,  my  little 
one,  my  poet,  my  wife.  Will  you  give  me  your  lips 
as  a  sign  that  you  have*  given  me  your  heart  and  your 
soul?" 

She  did  not  answer  him,  but  neither  did  she  at 
tempt  to  draw  away.  He  felt  the  slight,  quivering 
arms  press  him  a  little  closer,  and  then  he  bent  his 
face  upon  hers.  She  sank  down*  weeping  from  that 
controlled  yet  masterful  caress,  the  tears  of  a  young 
girl  who  feels  that  she  has  given  her  past  and  future 
irrevocably  into  the  hands  of  another,  and  who  knows 
that  she  can  never  be  entirely  her  own  again,  in  this 
world  or  in  any  world  above. 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  155 

"  I  love  you,  I  love  you,"  was  all  that  Nadrovine 
could  win  from  her  in  reply  to  his  entreaties  and 
self-reproaches.  "  No,  no  !  you  have  done  nothing. 
You  have  not  wounded  me.  I — I  love  you  more 
than  ever.  But  there  is  something  gone, — something 
that  can  never  be  the  same.  We  can  never  live  over 
the  last  half-hour  again.  Oh,  how  awkwardly  I  say 
it !  I  feel  the  same,  and  yet  different.  It  is  like 
these  roses  in  my  belt.  They  are  roses,  but  their 
stems  have  been  broken ;  they  have  been  gathered." 
She  cried  softly,  hiding  her  face  in  her  hands  and 
leaning  it  against  his  breast. 

"  My  rose,  whom  I  will  wear  forever,"  he  whis 
pered,  pressing  the  small  head  against  him.  When 
she  looked  up  at  last,  he  drew  the  sign  of  the  cross 
in  her  own  tears  upon  her  lips. 

"  They  are  doubly  mine  now,"  he  said,  with  the 
smile  which  she  thought  like  light.  She  reached  up, 
drew  down  his  head,  and  kissed  him  of  her  own 
accord,  timidly,  upon  both  eyes. 

It  was  Tuesday  afternoon. 

XIV. 

On  his  way  home,  Nadrovine  recalled  the  fact  that 
he  had  promised  to  reveal  to  his  mother  this  night 
the  history  of  his  missing  ring.  The  recollected 
clasp  of  Ilva's  arms  about  his  body  seemed  to  give 
him  strength,  and  he  determined  to  announce  his  en 
gagement  as  soon  as  he  entered  his  mother's  boudoir. 


156  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

He  ran  up  the  shallow  steps  easily,  noiselessly,  smiling 
to  himself.  He  imagined  the  scene  that  would  follow 
his  disclosure ;  but  it  was  almost  pleasant  to  think 
of  enduring  even  such  pangs  for  the  sake  of  his 
lady.  He  lifted  the  portiere  softly  and  paused  on 
the  threshold,  seeing  that  Count  Demarini  was  seated 
near  his  mother,  talking  earnestly.  No  doubt  they 
were  speaking  on  the  very  subject  which  he  had 
intended  to  broach.  He  hesitated.  For  an  instant 
her  eyes  seemed  to  rest  on  him,  but  he  felt  that  he 
was  mistaken,  for  she  returned  at  once  to  her  con 
versation  with  Count  Demarini,  more  absorbedly 
than  before.  She  had  a  great  nosegay  of  roses  and 
heliotrope  in  her  hand,  and  laughed  as  she  pressed 
them  against  Demarini's  nostrils,  hiding  his  whole 
face.  Her  gown,  of  a  curious  dull-green  silk,  had 
gold  threads  through  it,  which  caught  the  light. 
Her  black  hair  made  a  shadowy  haze  about  the 
rich  pallor  of  her  face.  Nadrovine  was  pierced  by 
her  beauty  and  the  luxurious  grace  of  her  sidelong 
posture. 

He  saw  Demarini  seize  the  wrist  of  the  hand  which 
held  the  bunch  of  roses,  tear  the  roses  from  it,  and 
dash  them  upon  the  floor,  at  the  same  time  drawing 
her  down  into  his  arms.  She  rested  against  him, 
her  lips  upon  his.  It  was  a  long,  silent  kiss. 

Nadrovine  loosened  the  portiSre,  and  it  resumed 
its  heavy  folds  without  a  sound. 

"  It  must  be  nearly  eight  o'clock.     Time  to  dress 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  157 

for  dinner,"  he  said,  aloud.  He  took  out  his  watch 
and  looked  at  it,  walking  slowly  along  the  cool  hall 
to  the  room  where  he  usually  smoked.  There  were 
no  candles  lighted  yet,  and  the  afternoon  glow  fell 
dimly  through  the  swaying  white  curtains.  He  went 
and  leaned  against  one  of  the  arched  windows. 

The  individuality  of  inanimate  objects  began  to 
impress  him, — the  indifference  of  the' sea,  the  self- 
satisfaction  of  white  sails  moving  placidly  further 
and  further  towards  the  citrine  west.  A  branch  of 
small  white  flowers  near  him  seemed  vain  of  their 
beauty,  in  their  tremulous  tossings  back  and  forth. 
There  was  an  impassive  stolidity  about  earth  and 
sky  which  irritated  him.  He  heard  two  servants 
laughing  in  the  shrubbery  on  one  side,  and  felt  that 
they  had  been  wilfully  impertinent.  Twilight  de 
scended  gradually,  like  the  ceasing  of  a  dream.  The 
sky  was  alternately  a  faded  blue,  a  deep  indigo,  a 
black-violet  in  which  the  gathering  stars  vibrated 
glow-worm  green,  yellow  of  tigers'  eyes,  red  of 
cactus-flowers,  the  silver  of  frost  in  moonlight. 

He  stood  there  until  darkness  had  formed  densely 
over  land  and  water,  and  a  servant  entered  bringing 
candles.  "  Take  them  away/'  he  said.  Gloom  again 
surrounded  him.  He  was  thinking  of  his  childhood, 
— recalling  the  folk-lore  in  which  his  mother  was  so 
learned,  and  which  she  used  to  repeat  to  him  in  her 
charming  voice;  the  quaint  airs  which  she  used  to 
sing  to  him,  and  in  which  he  fancied  he  heard  the 
14 


158  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

barking  of  wolves,  the  breaking  of  horses'  feet  through 
the  crust  of  the  snow,  the  cry  of  the  child  tossed  out 
as  a  sacrifice  for  the  others  in  the  quickly-gliding 
sleigh.  He  saw  his  mother  upon  his  father's  knee, 
her  black  hair  mingling  with  his  red-brown  beard. 
Her  emerald  ring  had  caught  in  it  one  day  as  she 
patted  his  cheek,  and  he  had  pretended  to  weep.  She 
had  also  pretended  to  count  the  tears,  and  had  given 
him  a  kiss  for  each.  Then  he  was  a  boy,  with  her 
breath  on  his  throat  as  she  leaned  to  help  him  with 
his  Virgil.  Her  rich  voice  had  made  the  flexible 
verse  throb  like  bars  of  music.  He  had  been  so 
proud  of  her.  None  of  his  playmates  had  possessed 
mothers  who  could  help  them  with  their  Yirgils. 
She  had  risen  from  a  bed  of  illness  to  be  present 
at  his  first  communion.  He  could  feel  her  tremble 
as  she  folded  him  afterwards  in  her  arms  and  set 
her  lips  upon  his  head.  She  had  sat  on  the  edge 
of  his  little  iron  bed  nearly  all  that  night,  and  then 
they  had  prayed  together  until  it  was  morning.  He 
remembered  her  kindly  smiles  and  praises  of  his  first 
interlined  manuscript, — her  astonished  commendation 
of  the  one  which  he  brought  her  a  year  later, — the 
pride  which  broke  through  her  eyes,  like  light  through 
a  forming  wave,  when  he  put  his  first  printed  book 
into  her  hands.  She  had  kissed  his  hair,  his  eyes, 
his  lips. 

"  My  mother  !  my  mother  !  my  mother !"  he  whis 
pered,  between  hoarse  sobs,  sinking  down  and  taking 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  159 

his  head  between  his  locked  arms.  Then  he  rose 
to  his  feet,  passing  quickly  from  the  house,  and  lean 
ing  on  the  old  stone  gate  of  the  garden,  still  with  his 
eyes  on  the  sea,  in  which  the  stars  seemed  to  collect 
and  scatter  like  drops  of  quicksilver.  There  were 
footsteps  shortly,  and  a  man's  voice  humming  an  air 
from  "  Faust."  Nadrovine  stepped  quietly  into  the 
gravelled  path  before  him,  and  Deraarini  stopped, 
hesitating.  He  did  not  recognize  the  figure  that  con 
fronted  him. 

"  My  friends  will  wait  on  you  to-morrow,"  said 
Nadrovine.  "  A  quarrel  at  cards." 

"  Ebbene,  signer,"  replied  the  Italian.  He  passed 
on  with  a  perfect  comprehension  of  what  had  hap 
pened,  but  considered  that  kiss  well  bought.  He 
resumed  the  air  from  "  Faust,"  and  Nadrovine  heard 
it  ringing  out  clearly  on  the  tense  quiet  of  the  night. 

He  returned  to  the  house. 

"Vladimir?"  said  his  mother,  who  had  come  to 
meet  him.  She  spoke  uncertainly,  and  this  went  to 
his  heart.  He  had  not  yet  realized  the  enormity  of 
it  all. 

"  Vladimir,  are  you  there  ?"  she  repeated.  He  did 
not  speak,  but  made  a  movement  of  assent.  They 
stood  facing  each  other,  and  the  slender  curve  of  the 
rising  moon  shed  a  strange  light  between  them. 

"  Are  you  there  ?"  she  said  again.  "  What  is  the 
matter  ?  Why  don't  you  answer  me  ?" 

He  moved  back  as  she  advanced  towards  him.    "  I 


160  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

know, — I  have  seen No,  no,"  he  said,  as  she 

attempted  to  put  her  hand  on  his  arm.     He  tried 
to  continue,     "I  was  going  to  tell  you.     I  went  to 

your  boudoir.    I  meant  to  tell  you "    He  stopped 

again,  shuddering  violently. 

"  You  meant  to  tell  me  what  ?"  said  his  mother. 

There  was  an  absolute  silence  for  some  seconds, 
and  then  Ire  replied  distinctly,  in  a  low  voice, — 

"I  was  going  to  tell  you  of  my  engagement  to 
Signorina  Demarini." 

There  was  another  long  silence,  broken  only  by 
the  sideward  movement  of  his  mother's  foot  on  the 
gravel.  "  Well  ?"  she  said,  finally. 

"  I  know  all.  I  saw  it  all,  my  mother  I"  he 
answered,  brokenly,  and  then,  with  a  repressed  cry, — 

"  My  mother !  You  did  not !  you  could  not ! 
Say  it  to  me  !  Say  it  1" 

She  felt  herself  crushed  in  his  arms.  He  was 
holding  her  fiercely  as  though  he  meant  to  tear  a 
denial  from  her. 

"  What — what  is  it  that  you  wish  me  to  say  ? 
You  hurt  me,"  she  managed  to  articulate.  He  re 
leased  her  as  suddenly  as  he  had  seized  her,  and 
lapsed  into  his  former  tone  of  dull  constraint. 

"  I  saw  you  'with  Demarini,"  he  said,  evenly. 

She  was  silent. 

"  I  saw  him  kiss  you." 

Still  silence. 

He  continued,  "  I  saw  you  return  the  kiss." 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  IQl 

"  Well  ?"  said  his  mother.  He  could  almost  have 
fancied  that  he  saw  her  smile. 

"  I  have  challenged  him,"  he  replied. 

"  Well  ?"  she  repeated.  "  I  happen  to  know  that 
you  are  the  better  swordsman." 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  he  said,  with  an  effort, — 
"  I  do  not  understand  how  it  is  that  you  feel." 

"Give  the  muscadin  a  lesson,"  suggested  his 
mother,  smiling  distinctly  this  time. 

Nadrovine  stared  at  her.  "  What  is  it  that  you 
mean  ?"  he  said. 

She  approached  him.  He  could  not  keep  her 
from  touching  him. 

"  Vladimir,"  she  said,  "  is  it  possible," — she  paused 
to  laugh  a  little  under  her  breath, — "  is  it  possible 
that  you  think  I  was  serious  just  now?" 

"  That  you  were  serious  ?"     He  stared  at  her. 

"  My  dear  Vladimir," — she  laughed  uncontrol- 
ledly  this  time, — "my  dear,  dear  boy,  wait  a 
moment  until  I  tell  you."  He  waited,  without 
moving,  until  she  resumed.  "Nothing  will  give 
me  greater  pleasure,  I  assure  you  of  it  on  my 
honor," — Nadrovine  winced, — "than  to  have  you 
split  the  forearm  of  that  caniche-haired  gommeux  in 
your  neatest  manner." 

His  whole  body  was  beginning  to  throb  with  a 

violent  although  repressed  disgust.      There  seemed 

to  be  some  vile  metamorphosis  of  heaven  and  earth 

taking  place.     This  woman  who  could  use  the  light 

I  14* 


162  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

slang  of  society  to  him  at  such  a  moment  was  his 
mother,  and  her  lips  had  just  been  pressed  by  those 
of  the  man  whom  she  designated  "  muscadiri"  and 
"gommeux" 

"  What  is  it  ?  what  has  come  to  you  ?"  he  stam 
mered.  "  You  are  different." 

She  stood  for  at  least  three  minutes  looking  out 
at  the  breaking  silver  of  the  Mediterranean,  and 
then,  wrapping  her  arms  in  the  light  scarf  about 
her  shoulders,  began  to  speak. 

"I  will  tell  you  everything,"  she  said.  "You 
will  be  very  angry.  It  may  estrange  you  from  me 
for  years,  but  at  the  end  of  those  years  you  will  love 
me  more  than  ever.  You  will  feel  grateful  to  me 
as  you  have  never  felt  before.  It  is  this.  I  see 
you  on  the  verge  of  ruining  your  whole  life,  your 
whole  career.  I  determine  to  save  you  at  any  hazard. 
You  will  not  listen  to  me.  I  watch  and  find  that 
you  are  determined  ;  that  nothing  can  change  you, — 
no  one, — your  mother  least  of  all.  I  go  to  see  this 
girl  with  whom  you  are  infatuated.  I  find  her 
lovely,  commonplace,  the  sort  of  woman  who  after 
a  year  of  marriage  would  drive  a  man  to  suicide. 
I  think,  I  pray,  I  plot.  An  idea  comes  to  me.  It 
is  a  sacrifice.  Ugh  !  I  feel  it  now  !"  She  made  a 
movement  of  revolt  with  her  whole  supple  figure. 
"  It  is  a  terrible  self-sacrifice,  but  mothers  will  do 
anything  for  their  sons.  I  determine  upon  it.  I 
determine  to  do  it.  I  nerve  myself,  conquer  myself. 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  163 

Vladimir," — she  broke  off  and  turned  to  him,  her 
face  honestly  anxious  and  eager  now  in  the  pale 
light, — "I  saw  you  just  now  in  the  door- way.  It 
was  for  that  I  let  Demarini  kiss  me.  I  meant  you 
to  challenge  him." 

There  was  again  silence  between  them. 

"I  do  not  understand,"  he  said,  finally.  He 
noticed  that  the  wind  shaking  her  heavy  skirts 
loosened  from  them  a  perfume  of  white  lilac,  which 
produced  an  unnatural  effect  of  spring  in  the  sultry 
summer  air.  "  You  say  you  meant  me  to  challenge 
him  ? — that  you  meant  me  to  do  it  ?" 

"  Yes, — for  your  own  good.  Yes,  yes.  I  felt 
that  you  were  ruining  your  life, — taking  your  des 
tiny  into  your  own  hands.  She  would  have  made 
you  wretched,  cramped  you,  thwarted  you  ;  your  art 
would  have  been  absolutely  destroyed.  There  is  no 
misery  like  that  of  an  artist  on  finding  that  he  has 
married  one  who  does  not  appreciate  or  love  his  art. 
It  is  like  being  compelled  to  have  for  a  companion 
in  heaven  one  who  is  always  sighing  for  earth.  I 
saw  all  this.  I  knew  I  could  not  make  you  under 
stand.  I  knew  that  you  would  laugh,  would  scorn 
the  idea,  would  make  a  jest  of  it.  You  will  per 
haps  hate  me  now  for  a  while, — for  a  while :  you 
would  have  hated  me  always  if  I  had  known  this 
and  had  not  told  you,  had  not  warned  you,  had 
not  prevented  you.  You  will  thank  me  some  day. 
How  you  will  thank  me  !  You  will  kiss  my  hands. 


164  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

Vladimir,  where  are  you  going  ?  Tell  me  that  you 
understand.  Say  that  you  understand " 

"  Do  not  touch  me/7  said  Nadrovine ;  but  she  fol 
lowed  him  and  took  his  arm  into  both  hands. 

"  But  you  understand  ?  you  do  understand  ?"  she 
urged. 

"  Yes,  I  understand,"  he  replied,  in  a  low  voice, 
loosing  her  strong  fingers  and  putting  her  hands 
from  him.  "I  ask  that  you  will  not  disturb  me 
now." 

"  Vladimir?' 

"  That  you  will  not  touch  me." 

"  Vladimir,  you  will  not  always  be " 

"  You  must  not  touch  me.  I  wish  to  be  alone. 
Don't  follow  me.  I  wish  to  be  by  myself." 

He  passed  rapidly  from  her  sight  among  the  thick 
ening  shadows,  leaving  her  standing  there,  her  arms 
dropped  straight  and  tense  along  her  sides,  her  lips 
pressed  inward  in  a  firm  expression  of  restrained 
pain. 

Nadrovine  walked  rapidly  until  he  found  himself 
among  the  ruins  of  the  little  temple  on  the  hill. 
The  sky  above  was  like  the  outreaching  of  a  great 
silver  wing,  soft  with  clouds  as  with  wind-rufiled 
feathers.  He  could  see  the  lights  in  the  house 
below,  glowing  like  oranges  of  flame  among  the 
thick  branches  of  the  trees.  The  sea's  voice  seemed 
the  purring  of  a  somnolent  tiger  gentle  with  love 
and  drowsing  on  distant  sands.  There  was  a  pale, 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  165 

spiritual  light  filtered  through  the  floating  clouds 
overhead  and  resting  on  a  mist  of  pearl  below, — the 
light  that  might  shine  through  moonlit  water  upon 
a  drowned  world.  He  sat  perfectly  still  on  the  old 
marble  bench,  and  seemed  wrapped  in  a  banner  of 
sunlight,  with  the  subtle  scent  of  azaleas  soaking 
the  dense  air.  He  remembered  the  very  folds  in 
her  white  gown.  He  remembered  the  white  butter 
fly  that  had  alighted  on  her  breast.  And  then  it 
was  Lotta's  tea-party  that  he  recalled, — the 'droll 
little  cups  of  red-and-gilt  china,  the  apricot .  which 
he  had  cut  in  three  pieces,  the  wicked  Zi-Zi  who 
had  stolen  Nicoletta's  sash,  Nicoletta  herself,  and 
Lucia,  and  the  strange  anatomy  of  their  elbowless 
pink-kid  arms. 

"  Do  not  be  frightened,  monsieur :  it  is  only  I.  I 
have  been  watching  you.  I  thought  you  were  asleep 
until  you  breathed  so  loudly.  I  wished  very  much 
to  scream  at  first,  because  I  did  not  know  you ;  but 
it  was  only  a  moment.  As  soon  as  I  made  up  my 
mind  to  come  nearer,  I  recognized  you  immediately. 
My  mamma  taught  me  that  once  when  I  was  fright 
ened  by  my  own  clothes  on  a  chair.  She  took  me 
up  to  them  and  let  me  feel  them ;  and  ever  since 
then  I  have  always  gone  up  to  things  in  the  dark 
and  felt  them  or  looked  at  them  very  closely.  It  is 
such  a  good  plan." 

It  was  little  Lotta  Boutry  who  addressed  him. 
She  stood  with  her  small  feet  bare  on  the  cool  marble 


166  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

in  front  of  him.  Her  night-gown  made  a  lawny 
vapor  about  her  fragile  limbs,  and  the  moonlight 
glanced  from  her  veil  of  dark  hair  in  lustrous  daz 
zles,  as  from  the  leaves  of  the  great  magnolia  below 
them.  She  looked  like  the  spirit  of  this  pale,  opal- 
tinted  night  condensed  into  human  shape. 

XV. 

"  I  hope  I  did  not  startle  you,  monsieur  ?"  she 
continued,  pushing  back  her  damp  hair  and  regard 
ing  him  earnestly  without  moving. 

"  Startle  me  ?  Why,  no,"  replied  Nadrovine, 
absently.  "  But  your  slippers,  little  one  ?  You 
will  take  cold  standing  on  that  chilly  marble." 

"Oh,  I  think  not,"  said  Lotta.  "It  feels  de 
licious, — not  at  all  too  cool.  The  night  is  so  warm 
in  the  house.  I  was  thinking  that  the  moon  looked 
hot  as  I  came  up  the  stairway.  I  saw  it  through  a 
little  tear  in  the  clouds.  It  was  like  a  hot  coal 
through  gray  ashes." 

"  But  what  are  you  doing  here  at  this  hour  of  the 
night,  little  one?"  asked  Nadrovine. 

"  I  came  for  my  poor  Zi-Zi.  I  forgot  him.  He 
has  been  lying  there  alone  ever  since  five  o'clock 
this  afternoon.  He  was  so  unhappy  that  I  could 
not  make  up  my  mind  to  strangle  him,  even  though 
Cousine  Ilva  gave  me  one  of  her  gold  hairs.  I 
know  he  has  been  thinking,  thinking,  thinking  out 
here  all  by  himself.  Because  dolls  must  think,  you 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  167 

know.  I  am  sure  that  locomotives  do.  I  am  sure 
they  are  in  a  wicked  mood  when  they  run  off  the 
rails  and  hurt  so  many  poor  people ;  and  then  when 
they  run  together — what  they  call  a  collision — I  am 
sure  that  they  are  in  love  with  each  other  and  that 
they  are*  determined  to  embrace  each  other  no  matter 
how  many  people  they  hurt.  I  am  sure  dolls  have 
feelings.  If  one  could  alive  them  with  steam,  like 
locomotives,  I  am  sure  they  would  run  into  each 
other's  arms,  no  matter  how  terribly  they  pinched 
the  fingers  of  the  person  who  was  holding  them. 
I  will  get  poor  Zi-Zi  and  try  to  comfort  him." 

She  returned  with  the  little  doll  in  his  crimson 
velvet  blouse  pressed  against  her  bosom. 

"  He  is  very,  very  sad,"  she  said,  gravely.  "  His 
whole  face  is  wet,  he  has  been  weeping  so.  You 
know  more  about  men  than  I  do,  monsieur  :  tell 
me  how  to  comfort  him." 

"  There  is  no  comfort  for  men's  tears,  little  one." 

"  But  Zi-Zi  is  only  a  doll-man.  There  must  be 
some  comfort  for  him.  Suppose  you  hold  him  a 
little  while.  I  must  go  back  to  bed  before  they 
put  out  the  lights.  There  is  no  light  in  Cousine 
Ilva's  room,  and  I  crept  out  on  my  toes  to  keep 
from  waking  her.  I  could  see  her  in  the  moonlight, 
though.  She  is  so  lovely.  She  let  me  put  all  the 
dolls  to  sleep  across  our  feet,  and  did  not  even  move, 
and  she  let  me  cover  them  with  her  pretty  white- 
and-blue  toilet-cover.  I  slipped  out  of  bed  very 


168  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

softly.  She  did  not  even  stir.  Her  hair  was  all 
between  us,  like  gold.  I  kissed  it.  I  wanted  to 
kiss  her,  but  I  was  afraid  I  would  wake  her.  She 
said  something  in  her  sleep.  She  looked  like  an 
angel.  Her  hair  showed  on  each  side  like  gold 
wings.  Oh,  monsieur,  you  would  write  a  story 
about  her  if  you  could  see  her  to-night." 

Nadrovine  drew  the  child  into  his  arms,  but  he 
was  trembling,  and  she  shrank  back  alarmed. 

"What  is  it?  why  do  you  shake  so?  Do  you 
see  anything  ?  Never  mind,  though  :  I  can  control 
myself.  Perhaps  it  is  a  fairy." 

"  And  so  you  left  her  asleep,  little  one  ?" 

"There  is  nothing,  then?  I  thought  you  saw 
something.  Yes,  she  was  fast,  fast  asleep.  She 
taught  me  such  a  pretty  verse  before  she  went  to 
sleep,  though.  I  only  remember  two  lines.  It  was 
all  about  different  eyes.  These  are  the  lines  : 

Quick  to  change  are  eyes  of  blue, 
Brown's  of  all  the  sweetest  hue. 

And  then  she  said,  'Do  you  know  any  one  with 
brown  eyes,  cherie  f  and  I  said  that  you  had  brown 
eyes,  and  she  laughed  and  held  me.  I  was  pulling 
off  her  stockings.  It  is  so  pretty  to  do, — -just  like 
peeling  the  dark-blue  skin  off  of  a  white  fig ;  and 
she  has  such  pretty  little  toes, — the  nails  shine  like 
any  one  else's  finger-nails,  and  there  are  little  white 
arches  on  them.  Then  I  comb  and  brush  her  hair. 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  169 

She  is  like  a  big,  big  doll  to  me.  I  do  love  her  so ! 
You  love  her,  don't  you,  monsieur  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Nadrovine. 

"  I  was  sure  that  you  did.  And  she  loves  you, — 
oh,  devotedly  I" 

"  CMrie,  how  do  you  know  ?" 

"  Because  when  I  speak  of  you  she  comes  nearer 
to  me,  and  takes  me  in  her  arms,  and  keeps  her  face 
against  mine  so  that  I  cannot  see  it.  And  whenever 
your  name  is  mentioned  she  turns  as  if  it  were  her 
own  name  and  some  one  were  calling  her.  And — 
and  the  princes  in  her  fairy-stories  always  look  like 
you,  and  when  she  draws  pictures  they  are  all  like 
you.  And  it  was  she  who  made  me  think  of  praying 
for  you  with  those  whom  I  love.  And  one  day  when 
I  said  to  her  that  I  hoped  she  would  marry  you, 
she  almost  hurt  me  with  kisses,  but  whispered  after 
wards,  '  Do  not  say  that  to  any  one  else,  darling,  for 
they  would  not  understand.'  But  it  is  true.  I  do 
hope  that  you  will  be  married,  and  then  I  would 
pay  you  long,  long  visits,  and  we  would  be  so 
happy  together.  You  would  wish  it,  would  you 
not?'7 

"  With  all  my  heart,  pretty  one.  But  see,  the 
lights  are  going  out  in  the  house.  You  must  not 
stay  longer.  Will  you  take  your  cousin  a  little  mes 
sage  from  me  ?  And  can  I  trust  you  to  tell  it  to  no 
one  else  ?" 

The  child  looked  at  him  seriously  while  stroking 
H  15 


170  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

the  disconsolate  Zi-Zi  down  the  entire  length  of  his 
inaccurately-formed  little  figure. 

"  Must  I  awaken  her  to  tell  her,  monsieur  ?" 
"Yes, — with  a  kiss,  little  one.      Tell  her  where 
you  have  been,  and  that  you  have  seen  me,  and  then 
say  to  her  the  words  that  I  will  repeat  to  you." 

u  But,  monsieur,  she  has  such  lovely,  lovely  dreams ; 
and  the  next  morning  she  always  tells  them  to  me. 
Suppose  I  should  break  one  in  the  middle?  One 
can  never  mend  a  dream,  you  know,  no  matter  how 
much  one  may  desire  to.  One  may  begin  by  dream 
ing  of  a  nest  of  little  white  doves  with  pink  bills 
and  feet,  which  one  is  feeding  on  stars  that  taste 
sweet  like  bon-bons,  and  one  may  be  awakened  and 
go  to  sleep  again  to  dream  of  a  large  cat  that  has 
eyes  of  green  fire  and  red-hot  claws  which  scratch 
and  burn  at  the  same  time.  I  really  know,  mon 
sieur,  because  I  have  had  such  things  happen,  and 
it  is  so  distressing.  And  then,  too,  Cousine  Ilva's 
dreams  are  so  beautiful.  She  hears  water  falling 
like  music  that  makes  itself.  And  sees  flowers  whose 
perfumes  are  so  sweet  that  to  them  it  is  like  loving. 
And  great,  silver-white  peacocks,  with  purple-and- 
gold  eyes  on  their  tails.  And  jewels  poured  out  on 
the  ground,  which  are  the  lovely  thoughts  of  good 
little  children  that  the  angels  turn  into  precious  gtones 
to  feed  the  poor.  The  sapphires  are  one's  thoughts 
of  the  blessed  Christ-Child,  and  the  pearls  of  the 
Holy  Spirit,  and  the  rubies  of  God.  And  when  one 


THE   WITNESS   OF   THE  SUN.  171 

wishes  to  help  others  it  is  diamonds,  and  when  one 
is  sorry  for  one's  sins  it  is  emeralds.  And  amethysts 
mean  kisses  to  those  who  do  not  expect  them.  And 
a  topaz  is  just  a  kind  word,  even  if  one  only  speaks 
it  to  one's  self  and  nobody  hears.  And  there  are 
many,  many  others ;  but  I  forget.  Oh,  I  could  not 
bear  to  disturb  one  of  her  dreams,  monsieur  I" 

"  No,  my  sweet  one,  I  can  well  believe  it ;  although 
such  souls  have  beautiful  dreams  whether  they  wake 
or  sleep.  But  you  will  tell  her  the  words  I  say  to 
you  as  soon  as  she  wakes,  will  you  not?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  truly,"  said  the  child,  earnestly. 
"What  are  they?  I  must  hurry,  and  I  wish  to 
learn  them  correctly." 

"  Say  to  her,  then,  my  little  heart,  that  the  words 
on  the  blue  ring  that  she  wears  around  her  neck  are 
part  of  my  message  to  her,  and  ask  her  to  trust  me 
whatever  happens ;  that,  whatever  it  is,  it  could  not 
be  avoided.  And" — he  held  the  child's  face  in  his 
hands,  so  that  he  could  look  into  her  eyes — "  and 
that  I  love  her,  that  I  will  always  love  her." 

"  I  am  sure  that  you  do,"  said  the  child,  simply. 
"It  makes  your. face  so  good." 

Nadrovine  carried  her  in  his  arms  down  the  stairs 
and  to  the  edge  of  the  last  terrace.  As  he  put  her 
gently  down  she  kissed  him  of  her  own  accord,  a 
little,  damp,  child's  kiss  that  went  to  his  heart.  He 
kneeled  down  and  drew  her  against  his  breast  for  a 
last  caress. 


172  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

"  Good-by,  my  dear  little  Lotta,"  he  said.  "  And 
say  your  little  prayer  for  me  twice  to-night." 

"  I  will,  monsieur.  But  I  have  already  said  it 
once." 

"  Then  make  it  three  times,  my  dear  little  true  one, 
and  it  will  help  me  when  I  arn  sad  and  troubled." 

"  Dear  monsieur,"  she  replied,  agitated  vaguely, 
her  lips  quivering,  "  my  prayers  will  be  that  sadness 
and  trouble  may  not  come  to  you." 

"  One  might  as  well  pray  against  the  coming  of 
death,  little  one.  But  there,  I  am  talking  at  ran 
dom.  Run,  run,  before  the  last  light  is  put  out.  I 
will  wait  here  for  you."  * 

He  gave  her  a  last  kiss,  and  then  stood  watching 
her  airy  figure  until  it  was  gathered  .into  the  evasive 
shadows  of  the  old  garden.  It  seemed  to  him  as 
though  she  were  the  wraith  of  his  youth,  vanishing 
as  he  looked,  and  leaving  behind  only  a  pulsing  gloom 
and  the  yearning  sounds  of  a  summer  midnight.  The 
great  harmony  of  the  sea  wounded  him,  as  we  are 
wounded  by  a  voice  that  sang  at  the  funeral  of  one 
we  loved.  It  was  the  sound  most  associated  with 
her, — with  her  words,  her  tears,  her  laughter, — a  pro 
found,  subdued  undercurrent  of  rich  cadences,  above 
which  her  clear  tones  rose  like  the  night-call  of  a 
bird  above  the  sonorous  breathing  of  a  great  forest. 
He  stood  and  looked  at  the  pauseless  swaying  of  the 
moonlit  tide  below  him,  and  knew  that  he  could 
never  again  endure  that  majestic  sight  nor  bear  the 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  173 

rhythm  of  its  throbbing  monotone.  It  is  hard  to  be 
deprived  of  love  and  of  the  sea  at  the  same  time, — 
only  those  who  love  the  sea  can  understand  how  hard. 
Nadrovine's  heart  surged  up  for  one  bitter  instant  in 
a  passion  of  revolt  and  rebellion,  that  instinct  of 
savagery  which  possesses  us  when  we  first  learn  that 
circumstance  is  lord  of  all,  and  that  the  result  of  the 
actions  of  others,  and  not  man,  is  often  master  of  his 
fate.  He  had  not  allowed  himself  to  think  of  his 
mother,  or,  rather,  as  yet  he  felt  nothing  in  regard 
to  her.  That  part  of  his  nature  which* used  to  vibrate 
at  the  least  memory  of  her  seemed  numbed  and  inca 
pable  of  sensation.  He  walked  back  and  forth  along 
the  broad  turf-path,  with  that  hungry  feeling  grow 
ing  in  his  heart  which  besets  those  who  walk  alone 
through  scenes  where  their  dearest  have  once  been 
with  them.  And  then  he  became  racked  with  an 
unconquerable  longing  to  see  her,  to  speak  with  her, 
to  take  her  in  his  arms,  if  only  for  one  moment. 
To  know  that  it  was  impossible  only  rendered  the 
painful  longing  more  frantic.  He  thought,  with  a 
sharp  contraction  of  regret,  of  how  many  better  mes 
sages  he  might  have  given  the  child  to  take  her,  and 
in  so  much  sweeter  a  way.  At  least  he  could  have 
sent  her  a  knot  of  her  favorite  blush-roses :  they 
would  have  lain  on  her  pillow  all  night  and  in  the 
morning  have  been  pressed  against  her  face.  But 
this  thought  disturbed  him  with  a  sudden  sense  of 
revulsion.  Ah !  he  remembered.  He  paused,  and 
15* 


174  THE  WITNESS   OF   THE  SUN. 

stood  perfectly  still,  lifting  his  shoulders  a  little,  as 
though  to  withstand  the  buffet  of  an  inrolling  wave. 
His  mind  wandered  to  commonplace  things.  He  re 
membered  that  his  man  had  neglected  to  replace  some 
books,  which  were  to  be  returned,  in  the  packing- 
cases.  The  petty  prick  of  irritation  returned  with 
the  thought.  They  should  have  been  sent  back  at 
least  two  days  ago.  There  was  also  a  roll  of  proof 
waiting  for  him  on  his  writing-table.  He  began 
reconsidering  a  chapter  which  he  had  determined  to 
omit.  The  sea  came  rolling  towards  him,  insistent, 
unavoidable,  like  a  great  genie  daring  him  to  forget 
for  even  a  moment.  Turning,  he  walked  steadily  in 
the  opposite  direction,  but  those  dithyrambic  surges 
of  deep  sound,  beating  up  against  the  steely  arch 
overhead,  seemed  to  descend  upon  him  in  great  floods, 
and  to  inundate  his  mind  with  their  individuality, 
until  he  was  powerless  to  think  any  thoughts  save 
those  which  they  recalled. 

XVI. 

It  was  at  seven  o'clock  the  next  morning  that 
Madame  Nadrovine  was  roused  by  the  entrance  of 
some  one  who  walked  softly  through  the  gloom  of 
the  closely-curtained  room  until  reaching  her  bed 
side. 

"  Alma  ?"  she  said,  half  raising  herself  among  the 
light  bedclothes,  "  is  it  not  very  early  for  my  coffee  ?" 
There  was  no  reply,  but  the  intruder  suddenly  thrust 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  175 

wide  the  Venetian  blinds  of  the  window  facing  the 
bed,  and  drew  back  the  curtains,  admitting  a  tangle 
of  early  sunbeams,  which,  reflected  from  a  bath  near 
the  window,  played  over  the  bed  and  the  half-awak 
ened  woman.  She  put  up  one  arm  to  shield  her  eyes, 
leaning  on  the  other.  Her  hair  was  braided  in  one 
great  braid,  like  that  of  a  little  girl.  She  looked 
amazingly  young,  with  her  bare  throat,  blinking  eyes, 
and  cheeks  flushed  with  sleep  and  creased  by  the 
folds  of  her  pillow-case  like  those  of  a  baby. 

"  What  is  it  ?  Who  is  it  ?  What  do  you  want  ?" 
she  asked,  unable  yet  to  identify  the  person  who 
confronted  her. 

"  He  is  dead !  I  have  killed  him,"  replied  the 
voice  of  Nadrovine.  He  was  standing  with  his  back 
to  the  window,  and  she  could  not  see  his  face  for 
the  blaze  of  morning  light  behind  him. 

"I  have  killed  him,"  he  repeated,  in  the  same 
monotonous  voice.  "  I  only  meant  to  wound  him  ; 
but  he  slipped.  He  was  quite  dead  in  a  few 
moments.  The  surgeon  could  do  nothing." 

His  mother  stammered,  catching  her  night-gown 
together  at  the  throat : 

"Who  is  dead?  who  is  dead?  What  do  you 
mean  ?" 

"It  is  Demarini.  We  fought  before  day  this 
morning.  The  sun  was  just  rising  when  he  died. 
There  was  a  horrible  likeness  with  the  eyes  shut. 
She  is  so  fair,  but  there  is  a  likeness.  It  was  hor- 


176  THE  WITNESS   OF   THE  SUN. 

rible.  I  can  never  forget  it.  I  will  see  that  face 
over  your  shoulder  whenever  I  look  at  you." 

"Bah! — I  will  not  believe  it,  that  he  is  dead/' 
cried  his  mother,  making  an  excited  motion  to  leave 
the  bed.  "  It  is  some  ridiculous  sensationalism. 
One  knows  the  way  that  surgeons  talk, — and  an 
Italian  !  Ring  for  Alma.'' 

"No,"  replied  Nadrovine.  "I  have  locked  the 
door.  I  wish  to  speak  to  you  alone.  It  seems  so 
strange.  I  seem  so  changed,  as  though  I  myself 
were  dead.  You  know  that  you  have  ruined  my 
life?" 

"  My  dear  boy,  let  me " 

"  When  I  say  that  you  have  ruined  my  life,  I 
mean  that  you  have  also  ruined  everything  that  makes 
life  worth  living.  You  have  left  me  nothing." 

"  My  dear  Vladimir " 

"  I  no  longer  love  you.  I  would  prefer  the  pain 
of  loving  you,  knowing  you  to  be  unworthy,  rather 
than  this  feeling  of  utter  incapacity.  You  seem 
like  a  machine, — a  beautiful  machine  which  has 
maimed  a  man  confiding  too  much  in  his  knowl 
edge  of  it.  Nothing  seems  real  but  this  hour,  this 
moment.  My  boyhood  and  manhood  are  like  the 
confusion  of  past  dreams.  I  know  that  you  are  my 
mother,  that  you  gave  me  birth  with  pain  and  have 
sacrificed  much  for  me,  and  yet  I  hope  that  after 
to-day  I  will  never  look  at  you  or  hear  your  voice 
again.  I  know  that  this  absolute  absence  of  all 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  177 

emotion  is  unnatural.  Nature  will  speak  before 
long,  perhaps  before  to-night,  with  another  of  her 
million  voices.  Perhaps  I  shall  hate  you.  I  might 
be  tempted  to  curse  you."  There  was  a  pause, 
during  which  one  could  hear  a  gardener's  boy  sweep 
ing  the  grass  with  a  broom  of  twigs.  His  mother 
made  no  reply,  but  continued  to  look  up  at  him 
with  her  clear,  unfaltering  eyes. 

"Well?'7  she  said,  at  last. 

"  I  am  going  before  such  a  change  can  take  place. 
I  wished  to  see  you  once  more.  It  will  be  a  final 
farewell.  I  hope  never  to  see  you  again." 

"  You  will  say  that,  of  course,  as  often  as  you  wish," 
she  murmured  behind  her  shut  teeth.  "  Go  on." 

"  I  thought  that  perhaps  it  might  soften  me,  that 
I  might  find  something  to  say  to  you, — something 
forgiving.  I  do  not  forgive  you." 

"  And  then?" 

"I  will  never  forgive  you.  We  will  never  see 
each  other  again." 

"  You  \vill  remember  that  I  told  you  we  might 
be  estranged  for  several  years." 

"  You  will  never  see  me  again.  You  will  never 
even  hear  of  me." 

"It  is  natural  that  you  should  feel  bitter.  I 
expected  you  to  be  milch  more  violent.  But  it  is 
nonsense — about  Demarini,  you  know.  Naturally, 
he  swooned  from  loss  of  blood." 

"  There  is  no  doubt  of  his  being  dead,"  said  Na- 


178  THE  WITNESS   OF  THE  SUN. 

drovine,  coldly.  "  I  came  to  speak  to  you  of  one  or 
two  things.  In  the  first  place,  I  wish  to  ask  that 
you  will  make  no  effort  to  discover  my  whereabouts 
at  any  time.  It  would  only  annoy  and  disturb  me, 
and  would  change  nothing." 

"  He  speaks  to  me, — to  me !"  whispered  his  mother, 
still  keeping  her  eyes  fastened  on  him.  She  nodded 
assent. 

"  Then  I  wish  you  to  allow  Ivan  to  pack  every 
thing  that  I  leave,  without  being  interrupted.  I 
want  no  one  to  enter  my  rooms  or  arrange  my  things 
except  Ivan." 

Again  his  mother  nodded. 

"And  then  there  is  this.  You  have  a  portrait 
of  my  father.  It  is  in  a  carved  silver  case  set  with 
little  rubies.  Ah !  it  is  there  around  your  neck. 
Give  it  to  me,  please." 

She  bared  her  throat  with  a  superb  movement. 

"Take  it,"  she  replied. 

He  unfastened  it  without  touching  her  white  flesh, 
and  opened  it  to  assure  himself  that  all  was  as  he 
remembered  it.  His  own  face  confronted  him, — the 
face  of  a  boy  of  eighteen,  with  blond  curls,  rather 
long.  A  sudden  rush  of  emotion  mastered  him.  He 
was  blinded,  and  the  blood  gathered  hotly  in  his 
throat.  He  put  out  his  hand  to  steady  himself,  and 
it  fell  upon  his  mother's  shoulder.  She  clasped  it 
with  both  her  own,  in  a  sudden  eager  gesture  of 
appeal.  Her  lips  moved. 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  179 

Nadrovine  stood  staring  down  at  the  portrait  in 
his  hand,  while  she  watched  him  ravenously,  her 
parted  lips  still  forming  unuttered  words. 

"  He  is  softened.  It  has  touched  him.  My  great 
love  has  melted  him.  He  will  forgive  me." 

These  were  the  sentences  that  she  framed  in  silent 
but  rapturous  certainty.  He  turned  suddenly,  with 
drawing  his  hand  from  beneath  hers,  and  tossing  the 
open  case  upon  the  bed. 

"  It  has  always  been  so.  You  have  always  put 
me  before  him.  I  never  knew  it  until  now.  I  might 
have  known.  I  might  have  known  that  such  light- 
heartedness  as  yours  could  never  have  been  feigned. 
What  woman  who  loved  her  husband  could  have 
laughed  and  danced  and  reigned,  as  you  have  done, 
with  him,  her  husband,  rotting  in  Siberia?  I  have 
been  a  fool !  I  have  been  a  fool !" 

He  went  to  the  door  and  unlocked  it.  She  thought 
that  he  would  come  back,  but  he  opened  it  and  passed 
through,  closing  it  after  him. 

"  It  is  a  natural  mood.  It  will  pass,"  she  said, 
consoling  herself  by  speaking  aloud  as  she  rose  from 
bed. 

She  walked  to  the  open  window  and  half  closed  the 
blinds,  shutting  out  the  sunlight.  There  was  a  half- 
finished  letter  on  her  writing-table,  —  an  order  for 
some  new  morning  gowns.  She  took  up  the  pen  and 
began  to  finish  it  mechanically,  thinking  of  other 
things  all  the  while  that  she  wrote.  Not  for  an 


180  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

instant  did  she  believe  Demarini  to  be  dead.  All 
the  frivolous  details  that  she  was  describing  inter 
wove  themselves  oddly  with  her  thoughts,  and  the 
scenes  of  the  past  twenty-four  hours  appeared  again 
to  her,  seen  through  folds  of  lace  and  muslin  and 
behind  the  fluttering  of  pale-green  ribbons,  and  hats 
garnished  with  apple-blossoms.  She  ended  the  letter 
and  sealed  it  with  elaborate  care,  spoiling  two  or  three 
envelopes  in  the  process,  and  then  reopened  it  to  say 
that,  after  all,  she  had  decided  to  have  the  gown  of 
India  muslin  made  over  pale-green  silk  and  embroid 
ered  by  hand  with  apple-blossoms  in  a  very  delicate 
shade  of  rose-color,  the  sprays  being  far  apart  in 
order  to  give  the  costume  an  airy  look.  She  then 
sealed  it  again,  even  more  carefully  than  before,  and 
rang  for  her  maid,  being  impatient  to  dress  and  yet 
avoiding  beginning.  It  seemed  as  though  she  could 
not  take  her  bath  and  have  her  hair  arranged  for 
hours;  and  all  the  time  she  was  wondering  about 
Nadrovine,  and  picturing  him  in  various  ways. 

It  was  not  until  she  appeared  at  luncheon  and 
asked  for  him  that  she  realized  his  determination. 
He  had  taken  the  morning  train  for  Paris  some 
hours  ago.  The  servant  who  told  her  noticed  that 
she  assumed  her  seat  at  the  table  rather  abruptly, 
but  beyond  this  she  showed  no  emotion.  The  only 
time  that  her  self-control  forsook  her  was  when  she 
became  convinced  beyond  doubt  of  Demarini's  death. 
Instead  of  growing  pale,  the  blood  rushed  darkly  to 


THE  WITNESS  OF   THE  SUN.  IgJ 

her  face,  which  worked  convulsively  in  an  expression 
of  horror.     They  heard  her  mutter, — 

"  Then  he  will  not  forgive  me." 

Her  maid  wished  to  undress  her,  but  she  motioned 
her  fiercely  to  leave  the  room.  The  girl,  who  adored 
her,  crouching  outside  her  door,  heard  the  soft  foot 
falls  moving  up  and  down  for  at  least  two  hours,  and 
the  noise  of  her  silken  skirt  hissing  in  little  jerks  as 
her  quick  impatient  strides  drew  it  after  her  along 
the  tiled  floor. 

XVII. 

Three  weeks  of  unbroken  silence  from  Nadrovine 
followed  the  day  of  his  departure.  His  mother  had 
not  left  the  house  once,  and  for  forty-eight  hours 
had  been  locked  in  her  apartments.  No  one  was  ad 
mitted.  The  trays  of  food  left  at  her  door  were  taken 
away  untouched,  while  the  little  Swede,  kneeling  and 
listening  at  the  key-hole,  could  hear  nothing, — not  a 
movement,  not  a  sound,  not  even  a  sigh. 

It  was  about  nine  o'clock  on  the  evening  of  the 
third  day,  that  Alma,  passing  through  the  hall  with 
wine  and  fruit  in  her  hands,  encountered  a  figure 
clothed  in  white  standing  just  within  the  door  of 
entrance.  She  stopped  and  stared  in  silence,  while  the 
figure  approached  her.  It  spoke  in  a  soft  voice. 

"  Can  I  see  Madame  Nadrovine  ?" 

Alma  saw  that  there  was  pale-golden  hair  under 
its  scarf  of  white  gauze,  and  that  its  breast  rose  and 
fell  quickly.  She  also  heard  the  sound  of  its  escaping 
16 


182  THE    WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

breath,  and  decided  that  this  breathing  was  too  rapid 
and  natural  to  be  that  of  an  apparition. 

"  Can  I  see  your  mistress  ?"  said  the  gentle  voice 
a  second  time. 

Alma  steadied  her  tray  of  wine  and  fruit  against 
the  carved  iron  railing  of  the  stairway. 

"  I  do  not  think  so,  mademoiselle,"  she  replied, 
hesitating.  "  She  has  not  seen  any  one,  not  even 
taken  food,  for  three  days." 

" Is  she  then  ill?" 

"No  one  knows,  mademoiselle;  for  no  one  has 
seen  her  for  three  days." 

"  I  must  see  her,"  said  Ilva. 

"But,  mademoiselle " 

"  I  must  see  her,"  repeated  the  girl,  gently.  "  Come  ! 
you  will  take  me  to  her,  I  know.  I  am  in  great  sorrow, 
and  she  alone  can  help  me." 

Alma  still  hesitated,  although  she  began  to  yield, 
and  Ilva  took  her  little,  plump,  tanned  hand  in  both 
her  own  and  pressed  it  against  her  breast.  "  I  may 
be  able  to  help  her  too,"  she  said.  "  Give  me  the 
wine  and  fruit,  and  let  me  take  it  to  her." 

"  But — but "  stammered  the  girl.  Ilva,  coming 

close  to  her  and  still  holding  her  hands,  said,  in  a 
ringing  voice,  low  and  sweet  with  the  weakness  of 
misery, — 

"  Listen  !  listen,  my  sister, — for  all  women  should 
be  sisters  in  time  of  trouble  :  I  only  want  to  help 
her  and  to  try  to  be  helped  by  her.  I  am  in  great 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  183 

sorrow.  My  wretchedness  is  almost  past  my  own 
power  of  comprehension.  I  wish  only  to  stand  out 
side  her  door  and  speak  to  her.  You  may  watch 
here  on  the  stairs.  Why,  what  harm  could  I  do 
her  ?  I  am  only  a  poor,  unhappy  girl.  Her  door 
is  locked,  you  say.  How  could  I  harm  her  in  any 
way?  How  could  I?  Even  if  I  wanted  to,  how 
could  I  ?  And  what  is  your  name  ?" 

"  Alma/7  replied  the  girl. 

"  Then,  dear,  dear  Alma,  let  me  go  to  her  door 
and  speak  to  her  through  it.  You  may  watch ;  you 
may  even  listen,  if  you  wish." 

The  girl  broke  suddenly  into  teal's. 

"  Go !  go !"  she  exclaimed,  sobbing,  and  holding 
out  the  little  silver  tray  with  both  hands,  while  avert 
ing  her  face.  "  Go  quickly,  and  the  blessed  Lord  be 
with  you !" 

"  And  with  you  !"  said  Ilva,  kissing  her.  She 
took  the  wine  and  fruit  from  her  hands,  saying,  with 
a  sorrowful  smile,  "  But  why  do  you  weep  ?" 

"  I  weep  because  you  have  the  look  in  your  face 
of  those  who  die  young,"  replied  the  girl,  "and 
because  you  are  so  beautiful." 

u  It  is  well  to  die  young,"  said  Ilva,  smiling  again. 
"But  I  love  you  for  your  tears,  and  I  will  pray  for 
you  always  with  those  whom  I  love." 

She  kissed  her  again  solemnly  on  the  forehead, 
and  ascended  the  wide  marble  stairway.  Alma  had 
told  her  to  stop  at  the  first  door  to  the  right,  and  she 


184  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

stood  there  awhile  in  silence,  before  speaking.  Then 
she  said,  gently, — 

" Vladimir's  mother?" 

There  was  only  silence  for  reply. 

She  spoke  again,  even  more  softly,  more  gently : 

" Vladimir's  mother?  Vladimir's  dear,  dear 
mother  ?" 

Only  silence,  profound,  vibrating.  Again  she 
spoke,  with  an  anguished  note  of  entreaty  begin 
ning  to  throb  through  her  low  tones  : 

"  Oh,  will  you  not  answer  me  ?  Will  you  not 
answer  me  ?  I  only  wish  to  ask  you  where  he  is, 
that  I  may  tell  him  how  fully  I  forgive  him, — how 
I  believed  the  words  that  little  Lotta  brought  me. 
I  trust  him.  I  trust  him  utterly.  I  feel  that  he 
is  suffering,  that  he  is  in  anguish  !  I  only  can  help 
him, — but  not  without  you, — not  without  you.  Even 
if  you  hate  me,  will  you  not  open  to  me  for  his 
sake?  You  may  curse  me,  you  may  tell  me  how 
you  hate  me,  but  I  will  not  care.  It  is  for  his  sake. 
.  .  .  Oh,  if  you  would  but  understand !  Oh,  if  I 
could  but  make  you  understand  !  I  will  go  into  a 
convent.  I  will  promise  you  never  to  see  him  again. 
Only  I  cannot  bear  the  thought  of  his  suffering :  I 
cannot !  .  .  .  I  cannot !  It  is  driving  me  mad.  I 
hear  only  evil  words  of  him  from  morning  until 
night,  from  night  until  morning.  Will  you  not 
answer  me  ?  Are  you  dead  too  ?" 

Still  the  heavy  silence   which   seemed   to   press 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  185 

against  her  ears  until  they  ached.  She  kneeled 
down,  supporting  the  tray  of  fruit  upon  her  knees 
and  lifting  upward  her  pale  face  in  supplication. 

"  O  Sancta  Maria/7  she  whispered,  "  soften  her 
heart ;  let  her  heart  be  softened  by  the  words  that 
thou  wilt  teach  me  to  say  to  her." 

Again  she  bent  forward,  with  her  cheek  against 
the  door. 

"Open  to  me  in  his  name, — in  his  name,"  she 
murmured.  "  I  only  wish  it  for  his  sake.  Believe 
me !  oh,  believe  me, — believe  me !  You  may  say 
what  you  will  to  me.  I  will  endure  any  reproach 
that  you  offer  me.  Only  open  to  me.  Only  open 
to  me,  that  I  may  see  you  and  speak  with  you." 

After  waiting  several  moments,  during  which  her 
lips  moved  incessantly  in  whispered  words  of  prayer, 
she  spoke  again : 

"  I  will  not  weary  you  more ;  but  if  during  the 
night  you  feel  that  you  can  speak  to  me,  open  the 
door.  You  will  find  me  still  here.  And  there  is 
wine  for  you, — his  dear  mother, — and  some  fruit. 
Oh,  you  must  be  so  weak, — so  weak  !  My  heart 
aches  when  I  think  of  it.  But  now  good-night. 
May  angels  minister  to  you !  May  you  be  told  in 
dreams  of  my  sincerity !  I  am  ready  to  promise 
whatever  you  wish." 

She  then  stretched  herself  deliberately  along  the 
floor,  resting  her  head  against  a  panther's  skin,  which 
she  rolled  up  and  over  which  she  placed  her  gauze 

16* 


186  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

scarf  in  order  to  have  a  comparatively  cool  pillow. 
It  seemed  to  her  that  she  lay  there  for  hours.  She 
lived  over  again  every  scene  with  Nadrovine  since 
her  first  meeting  with  him  as  a  little  girl.  Alma 
had  fallen  asleep  on  the  stairs,  and  the  wax  candles 
in  the  hall  below,  unextinguished,  dripped  in  semi- 
transparent  mounds  on  the  tiles  beneath  and  hung 
in  stalactites  from  the  crystal  bob£ches.  One  by  one 
they  burned  low,  flared,  and  went  out.  Only  the 
languid  glittering  of  the  stars  which  studded  the 
space  of  sky  enclosed  by  an  open  window  near  at 
hand  lighted  the  great  hall.  Ilva  had  not  stirred. 
She- lay  in  an  attitude  of  tense  quiet,  one  hand  retain 
ing  her  improvised  pillow  in  its  place,  the  other 
stretched  above  the  little  tray  at  her  side,  like  the 
hand  of  a  mother  questioning  the  slumber  of  her 
first-born.  Was  it  not  this  wine  and  fruit  which 
was  to  nourish  his  mother, — the  woman  who  had 
brought  him  into  the  world  to  love  her  and  to  be 
loved  by  her? 

It  was  one  o'clock  when  the  door  opened  wide,  and 
a  tall,  impassive  form  appeared  on  the  threshold, 
pressed  forward,  as  it  were,  by  a  flood  of  light  from 
beyond.  The  folds  of  her  white  crape  dressing- 
gown  fell  in  an  almost  forbidding  simplicity  to  her 
bare  feet.  Her  face  was  ghastly,  her  eyes  dull  and 
sunken  beneath  their  dark  lids.  Her  thick  hair, 
half  braided,  was  tangled  in  a  lustreless  mesh  of 
strands. 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  187 

II va  at  once  rose  to  her  knees,  and  remained  in  that 
position,  looking  up  at  her.  Presently  she  ventured 
to  lift  her  clasped  hands  timidly,  drawing  them  down 
at  once  and  straining  them  against  her  breast. 

"  Oh,  how  ill  you  look  !  How  ill  you  look  !" 
she  exclaimed,  in  a  pained  voice. 

Nadrovine's  mother  stood  motionless,  still  regard 
ing  her.  Suddenly  she  moved  aside. 

"  Come  in  I"  she  said,  sternly. 

Ilva  found  herself  in  an  airy  room,  charming  with 
hangings  of  white  and  gold,  and  with  low  chairs  and 
couches  covered  with  old-fashioned  silks  in  faded 
tints.  The  bed,  with  its  eight  curtains  of  yellow 
brocade,  was  as  smooth  as  though  just  spread. 
There  were  torn  papers  scattered  over  the  floor, 
and  an  overturned  inkstand.  The  ink,  sluggishly 
following  an  uncertain  course,  had  left  a  gloomy 
stain  on  the  bright  floor. 

"  And  now,  what  is  it  that  you  wish  with  me  ?" 
asked  the  woman. 

Ilva's  heart  seemed  strangling  her. 

"  That  you  will  tell  me  where  he  is.  I  wish  to 
forgive  him.  I  wish  to  know  where  he  is.  It  is 
only  because  I  cannot  bear  that  he  shall  suffer.  Ah  ! 
I  know  that  you  will  tell  me,"  she  ended,  in  a  suffo 
cating  voice. 

Madame  Nadrovine  regarded  her  calmly.  "I 
know  no  more  where  he  is  than  you  do,"  she  said, 
at  last. 


188  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

"  But,  sigoora  ! — dear  signora  .  .  .  !" 
"  I  have  told  you  that  I  know  no  more  than  you 
do." 

"  But  you  love  him  ? — you  love  him  ?  You  can 
not  desire  that  he  should  suffer.  If  he  could  only 
know  that  I  forgive  him  !" 

"  For  what  do  you  forgive  him  ?" 
"  Signora,  .  .  .  for  the  death  of  my  father." 
"  You  are  indeed  lenient,  mademoiselle." 
"  I  trust  him.     I  know  that  it  was  not  his  fault. 
I  do  not  understand,  but  I  am  sure  of  that.     I  trust 
him  utterly.      I  am  sure  that  he  did  not  mean  to  do 
it." 

" '  I  have  not  found  so  great  faith,  no,  not  in 
Israel !' "  quoted  the  woman,  in  a  hard  voice,  half 
smiling  down  at  her.  "  You  are  deeply  in  love,  it 
is  evident,  mademoiselle." 

"  Oh,  yes !  yes !"  cried  Ilva,  her  face  breaking 
into  a  radiance  of  innocent  rapture.  "You  must 
see  how  I  love  him  to  have  come  to  you.  I  felt 
that  you  hated  me,  and  yet  I  came.  I  loved  him  so 
much  that  your  hate  seemed  a  little,  little  thing  in 
comparison.  I  knew  that  you  would  see  me.  I 
was  sure  of  it.  I  thought  perhaps  that  I  could 
make  you  understand  that  you  had  hated  me  un 
justly, — that  I  was  not  as  you  thought  me.  Believe 
ine,  signora,  oh,  believe  me  !  I  love  you  for  his  sake, 
in  spite  of  your  hatred.  I  will  do  whatever  you 
wish." 


THE    WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  139 

"I  tell  you  that  I  know  nothing.  Why  do  you 
stare  at  me  so?  There,  sit  down.  You  are  as 
white  as  your  gown.  There,  sit  down,  I  say.  Do 
you  faint  ?  Look  !  I  will  shake  you  if  you  attempt 
to  faint." 

She  caught  the  girl  fiercely  by  the  arm,  while  the 
great  eyes  looked  up  at  her,  dazed,  but  unterrified. 

"  You  would  not  really  hurt  me  ?"  she  said,  half 
questioningly.  Madame  Nadrovine  withdrew  her 
hand  in  some  haste. 

"  Why  should  I  hurt  you  ?"  she  asked. 

"  I  knew  you  would  not.  It  was  only  a  thought. 
We  cannot  help  our  thoughts,  you  know."  Then 
suddenly  she  slipped  from  the  chair  into  which 
Madame  Nadrovine  had  forced  her,  and  clasped  her 
about  with  both  arms. 

"  Signora !  signora !  in  Christ's  name, — for  Christ's 
sake, — tell  me  where  he  is  !" 

"  Little  idiot !  have  I  not  already  said  twice,  that 
I  do  not  know  ?" 

"  But,  signora  .  .  .  " 

"  I  tell  you  I  do  not  know." 

"But,  signora,  think,— think  !" 

"  I  say  I  know  nothing, — nothing  !  Saints  !  am 
I  not  sufficiently  humiliated  by  such  a  confession, 
that  you  force  me  to  repeat  it?  I  tell  you  that  I 
know  nothing.  Do  you  hear?  Nothing,  nothing, 
nothing,  nothing !" 

"  But,  signora,  listen.     I  wish  to  ..." 


190  THE    WITNESS   OF  THE  SUN. 

"  Nothing,  I  say !  Let  me  go  !  You  drive  me 
frantic  !  Let  go  !" 

She  drew  her  robe  violently  from  the  girl's  hands, 
causing  her  to  swerve  and  fall  sidelong  on  the  floor. 
A  little  sigh  escaped  the  pale  lips,  and  then  the  slight 
limbs  settled  quietly. 

The  woman  stood  looking  at  her  for  a  moment, 
rigid,  fierce,  her  hands  clinched ;  but  she  soon  saw 
by  the  pallor  of  the  face  at  her  feet  that  the  swoon 
was  not  a  feigned  one.  She  knelt  abruptly,  and  took 
one  of  the  little,  relaxed  hands  in  hers.  It  was 
damp  and  cold.  She  put  her  hand  on  the  wavy  hair  : 
it  was  also  damp  about  the  brow  and  temples. 

"  Wake  !  wake  !"  she  called,  in  a  stertorous  whis 
per,  dragging  her  upward  by  the  lifeless  arms,  and 
then  lowering  the  inert  body  again  upon  the  floor. 
She  slapped  her  face,  her  hands.  She  poured  the 
contents  of  a  great  ebony  case  of  perfume  over  the 
inanimate  breast.  The  delicate  hue  of  flesh  shone 
through  the  soaked  muslin,  but  no  signs  of  returning 
life  stirred  its  folds.  She  then  caught  sight  of  the  de 
canter  of  wine  on  the  tray  near  the  still  open  door, 
and,  seizing  it,  forced  a  glassful  between  the  girPs 
teeth.  As  the  long  breath  of  returning  conscious 
ness  lifted  her  bosom,  the  fasting  woman  at  her  side, 
made  ravenous  by  the  smell  of  the  wine  and  fruit, 
began  to  eat  the  grapes,  skins  and  seed,  tearing  them 
from  their  stems  with  her  sharp  teeth,  and  washing 
them  down  with  glass  after  glass  of  sherry. 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 


XVIII. 

When  she  had  finished  this  strange  and  hurried 
repast,  she  turned,  still  kneeling,  and  looked  down 
at  the  prostrate  girl.  Ilva's  eyes  were  closed,  but  she 
breathed  regularly,  and  one  of  her  hands  stirred 
slightly,  like  a  fallen  magnolia-leaf  lifted  by  the 
wind.  Madame  Nadrovine  felt  the  girPs  heart.  It 
was  beating,  slowly  but  firmly. 

"  Let  me  help  you  to  the  bed,"  she  suggested,  in  a 
cold  voice.  Ilva  did  not  reply.  She  closed  again 
her  dark  eyes,  which  she  had  half  opened,  and  lay 
without  motion.  Madame  Nadrovine  did  not  waste 
further  time  in  words.  Thrusting  her  strong  arms 
under  the  slight  figure,  she  lifted  her  and  carried 
her  to  the  great  bed,  with  its  eight  shining  curtains. 

She  drew  the  old-fashioned  embroidered  white  satin 
coverlet  from  beneath  her,  and  placed  it  over  her  up 
to  her  breast. 

"  I  thank  you,"  murmured  Ilva,  again  opening 
her  languid  eyes  for  an  instant.  Invigorated  by  the 
wine  which  she  had  drunk,  Madame  Nadrovine  began 
to  rub  the  lifeless  limbs  with  a  regular  sweeping 
movement  of  her  strong  hands,  and  as  she  sat,  bend 
ing  back  and  forth  to  her  task,  she  noticed  how  frail 
and  wasted  was  the  fair  face  and  how  transparent 
the  little  hands  unfolded  on  the  shimmering  coverlet. 

"  She  has  been  fasting  too,"  she  muttered  to  her 
self  in  her  voice  of  the  past  three  weeks,  —  a  voice 


192  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

without  feeling  or  inflections.  She  found  that  she 
could  not  withdraw  her  gaze  from  the  quiet,  pale 
face.  What  long,  dark  lashes  she  had,  curling  to 
her  eyebrows  with  their  golden  tips  which  a  mon- 
daine  would  undoubtedly  have  dyed !  What  fine, 
narrow  eyebrows !  What  a  clear  forehead,  smooth 
and  bluish,  with  thread-like  veins  at  the  temples! 
Her  soft  hair  grew  in  little  points,  downy  and  of  a 
pale  brown.  Above  rippled  a  luxurious  tide  of 
silverish  gold.  The  little  nostrils  were  haughty, 
thin,  and  high-arched,  the  lips  curved  and  drooping 
slightly  at  the  corners.  Nadrovine's  mother  gazed 
at  them  as  though  under  a  spell,  and  then  her  look 
dropped  to  the  white  throat  stretched  back  on  the 
pillow.  Her  little  crooked  toilet-scissors  were  lying 
near.  She  could  touch  them  with  her  outstretched 
hand.  What  was  it  that  she  had  said  to  Nadrovine 
only  a  month  ago?  She  took  them  up  on  three 
fingers  and  made  the  motion  of  cutting  in  the  air. 
The  sherry  burned  through  her  veins.  A  soft  touch 
roused  her.  Ilva  had  slipped  from  the  pillow,  and 
was  resting  her  cheek  upon  one  of  her  hands. 

"  You  are  so  good  to  me,"  she  said.  "  I  knew 
that  you  were  good.  He  could  not  love  you  as  he 
does  if  you  were  not  good." 

Madame  Nadrovine  let  the  scissors  drop  noiselessly 
among  the  folds  of  her  dressing-gown.  She  frowned, 
however. 

"  You  are  clever,"  she  remarked,  in  her  harshest 


THE   WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  193 

tones.  "  I  made  a  mistake  when  I  thought  you 
silly." 

"  No,  no,  signora !  Do  not  think  I  say  things  for 
effect.  He  used  to  speak  to  me  for  hours  and  hours 
of  his  love  for  you.  We  used  to  talk  of  you  over 
and  over  again.  I  was  afraid,  but  he  used  to  tell 
me  of  your  loveliness  and  goodness,  and  then  I  would 
not  be  so  frightened.  Ah,  signora,  why  do  you  hate 
me?  He  will  always  be  yours  more  than  mine. 
He  is  your  flesh  and  blood.  You  have  suffered  for 
him.  Oh,  signora,  think  of  it ! — you  have  suffered 
for  him,  and  I,  no  matter  how  much  I  suffer,  what 
can  I  do  for  him  ?  We  are  separated  forever.  He 
will  not  marry  me  with  this  stain  of  blood  between 
us.  Will  you  not  let  me  love  you  ?  I  can  have  no 
more.  He  will  never  wish  me  to  be  his  wife  now  : 
all  that  is  gone, — gone.  I  can  only  be  his  sister, 
— your  daughter,  signora, — your  daughter !" 

For  the  first  time  she  began  to  weep.  Great  tears 
glazed  her  face.  Her  sobs  shook  her  convulsively, 
and  she  grasped  Madame  Nadrovine's  gown  with 
both  hands.  The  woman  rose  excitedly,  pushing 
her  back  among  the  heaped-up  pillows. 

"  Never  !  .  .  .  never  !"  she  said,  in  a  choked  voice. 
"My  daughter?  Never!" 

She  took  two  or  three  strides  forward.  In  the 
centre  of  the  room  she  paused,  turning  about  and 
regarding  the  tear-shaken  girl  with  a  splendid  scorn. 

"  My  daughter !  Are  you  Demarini's  child,  you 
i  n  17 


194  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

who  wish  to  be  my  daughter?  You  wish  to  have 
for  a  mother  the  mother  of  the  man  who  killed  your 
father?" 

"  Ah,  signora,  that  was  an  accident.  My  poor 
father  slipped.  We  were  told  that  by  the  surgeon 
who  attended  him.  And  I  also  have  his  words, — 
the  words  of  your  son.  They  are  here  in  my  breast. 
It  was  an  accident,  a  terrible,  terrible  accident.  Oh, 
signora,  believe  that  I  have  suifered.  I  loved  my 
father.  It  was  I  who  watched  with  him  all  that  first 
dreadful  night, — I  and  little  Lotta.  She  would  not 
leave  me.  There  was  no  one  else  but  the  servants ; 
and  of  course  I  could  not  have  borne  that.  My 
mother  and  my  aunt  were  both  ill,  and  Nini  is  afraid 
of  the  dead.  I  sat  beside  him,  at  his  head,  so  that  I 
could  look  down  upon  his  face.  It  was  very  beauti 
ful.  I  never  noticed  before  how  long  his  lashes  were, 
like  a  woman's,  and  his  forehead  so  clear  in  the 
candle-light.  At  first  I  could  only  think  of  the 
awful  wound  in  his  breast,  ...  of  who  had  made 
it  there.  I  felt  as  though  the  sword  had  pierced  me. 
And  then  to  be  thrust  by  the  hand  that  had  caressed 
me, — his  daughter ! — that  had  drawn  the  sign  of 
the  cross  upon  my  lips,  and  in  my  tears !  I  knew 
that  my  father  had  forgiven  him.  He  looked  so 
calm,  ...  so  good.  It  was  almost  the  face  of  a  saint, 
— so  pure  and  placid.  And  he  was  good, — good  and 
gentle.  It  must  have  been  some  madness.  I  know 
that  he  has  forgiven.  I  know  that  he  would  plead 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  195 

for  me,  signora,  .  .  .  would  wish  me  to  forgive. 
Why,  I  can  almost  see  him,  there,  there  beyond  your 
shoulder " 

In  her  excitement,  with  running  tears  and  catch 
ing  breath,  II va  kneeled  up  in  the  great  bed  and 
extended  her  arm  towards  Madame  Nadrovine,  her 
eyes  fixed  as  though  on  some  object  beyond  her. 
The  short,  hoarse  cry  that  the  woman  uttered 
startled  her :  it  was  almost  like  the  bark  of  some 
animal  in  anguish.  She  wheeled  and  caught  at  a 
chair  near  her  for  support. 

"  You  see  nothing !  .  .  .  Why  do  you  point  at  me 
in  that  theatrical  manner?  .  .  .  You  know  that  you 
see  nothing  !  .  .  .  You  do  it  for  effect."  The  words 
came  in  hurried  bursts,  as  though  forced  from  her, 
and  the  chair  trembled  with  her  heavy  grasp  upon  it. 

"  It  is  absurd,  .  .  .  absurd  !"  she  repeated,  sinking 
down  and  thrusting  back  her  loosened  hair  with  both 
hands.  "  But  you  are  a  good  actress,  mademoiselle." 

At  these  words,  Ilva  rose  slowly  from  the  bed, 
and  stood  erect,  meeting  the  sneering  gaze  of 
Madame  Nadrovine  in  a  calm,  level  look. 

"  Since  you  can  believe  this  of  me,  there  is  nothing 
left  for  me  but  to  go,  signora,"  she  said,  with  a  quiet 
dignity.  "  I  wish  you  good-night." 

She  made  a  slight  inclination,  graceful  and  self- 
contained,  and,  passing  through  the  open  door,  went 
swiftly  down  the  broad  stairway  and  into  the  warm 
night  outside.  Madame  N"adi;ovine  remained  where 


196  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

she  was,  the  scornful  smile  with  which  she  had  greeted 
the  last  speech  of  the  young  girl  still  lifting  the  cor 
ners  of  her  lips. 

As  she  had  done  with  Nadrovine,  she  waited,  ex 
pecting  to  see  Ilva  return  and  throw  herself  at  her 
feet  in  a  last  paroxysm  of  pleading  and  despair. 
The  moments  passed  on  in  quiet  silence,  however, 
the  perfumes  and  leaf-sounds  of  the  great  garden 
below  rising  and  falling  with  the  indolent  wind. 
She  rose  finally  and  approached  the  open  window. 
In  the  distant  haze  of  the  late  and  waning  moon 
light,  the  girl's  figure  shone  like  a  small  statuette 
of  silver  among  the  dark  shrubbery,  and  presently 
vanished  altogether.  Madame  Nadrovine  turned 
again  towards  the  lighted  room.  It  was  suifocating 
with  the  scent  of  the  vervain  which  she  had  poured 
over  Ilva  during  her  swoon,  and  the  empty  grape- 
twigs  lay  in  a  desolate-looking  bundle  among  the  half- 
filled  sherry-glasses.  Moths  and  strange  summer  in 
sects  of  all  sorts  were  fluttering  and  singing  about 
the  glittering  candles  on  her  toilet-table  and  writing- 
desk.  Some  of  them  were  half  burned  to  death  and 
buzzed  in  anguish  among  the  silver  and  ivory  brushes 
and  toilet-articles ;  others,  half  plunged  in  the  melted 
wax,  strove  to  free  themselves  with  desperate  contor 
tions  of  their  long  legs. 

The  woman  stood  for  a  moment  gazing  absently 
down  at  the  struggling  creatures ;  then,  lifting  a 
brush,  she  put  an  end  to  their  pain  by  a  quick  tap 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  197 

or  two,  and,  taking  fresh  candles  from  a  drawer, 
placed  them  on  her  writing-table.  A  square  book 
of  black  Russian  leather  with  a  heavy  lock  and 
monogram  in  silver  lay  between  the  two  candle 
sticks.  She  opened  it,  read  a  page  or  two,  turned 
to  a  fresh  page,  dipped  her  pen  in  the  ink,  and, 
kneeling  down  in  front  of  the  table,  began  to  write 
as  follows : 

"  Just  God,  have  mercy  upon  me,  and  turn  the 
heart  of  my  son  towards  me  again.  Thou  knowest 
that  all  I  have  done  was  for  his  sake.  Thou  knowest 
how  distasteful  and  abominable  it  was  to  me  beyond 
words.  If  I  have  done  wrong  I  ask  Thy  forgive 
ness.  I  will  fast  for  a  year,  and  sell  my  jewels  for 
the  poor,  if  Thou  wilt  but  pardon  me.  Judge  me 
not  by  the  offence,  O  Lord,  but  by  the  love  that 
caused  it.  If  I  almost  worship  my  son,  O  Lord, 
Thou,  whose  Son  was  worshipped  by  his  mother, 
wilt  look  leniently  upon  what  for  me  is  a  sin.  O 
God,  lay  not  the  death  of  Demarini  to  my  charge. 
Thou  knowest  that  I  did  not  mean  him  to  be  killed. 
My  object  was  to  make  a  breach  between  the  two 
families  which  would  prevent  my  son  from  marrying 
an  immature  child  in  no  way  worthy  of  him.  My 
God,  I  have  been  called  a  hard  woman.  Thou  who 
madest  me  knowest  that  if  this  is  so  it  is  the  fault 
of  heredity  rather  than  from  any  wish  of  my  own ; 
but  to  my  son,  O  God,  I  am  as  melted  wax.  Lord, 
give  him  back  to  me,  if  I  die  with  his  first  look. 


198  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

Give  him  back  to  me  in  love,  if  his  first  kiss  means 
death  to  me.  These  words  are  weak  and  cold  to 
what  is  filling  my  heart  like  bubbling  iron.  Why 
didst  Thou  send  this  girl  to  divide  us  ?  Did  I  not 
bring  him  up  to  fear  and  honor  Thee  ?  Did  I  not 
teach  him  to  make  his  genius  an  offering  unto  Thee  ? 
Wherein  have  I  failed?  Why  is  this  punishment 
sent  upon  me?  I  feel  that  Thou  art  angry  with 
me ;  and  yet,  Lord,  it  is  not,  alas  !  Thy  anger  which 
so  much  grieves  me  as  the  loss  of  my  son.  It  is  not 
so  much  Thy  anger  that  I  dread,  as  that  it  will  cause 
Thee  to  keep  him  from  me.  I  feel  that  Thou  art 
displeased  with  me  for  my  lack  of  gentleness  to  the 
girl ;  but  I  would  have  been  a  hypocrite  had  I  pre 
tended  to  feel  any  pity  for  her.  Perhaps  she  de 
serves  it.  I  do  not  know.  It  is  nothing  to  me. 
Thou  seest,  O  Lord,  how  utterly  I  bare  my  soul  to 
Thee.  I  hide  nothing.  I  excuse  nothing,  The 
thing  that  I  did  was  wrong,  but  the  love  that  caused 
it  was  sublime.  It  was  the  wisdom  of  the  world, 
but  Thy  Son  hath  told  us  to  be  '  wise  as  serpents/ 
and  I  did  not  mean  to  be  less  t  harmless  than  a  dove.' 
I  meant  not  the  death  of  any  one.  I  only  wished  to 
save  my  son,  and  the  great  genius  which  Thou  hast 
given  him,  from  a  living  death.  Let  him  live  to 
thank  me  for  it.  Let  him  live  to-  recognize  that 
Demarini's  death  was  indeed  an  accident  for  which 
neither  he  nor  I  are  responsible.  Bring  him  back 
to  me.  Soften  his  heart.  Give  him  to  me  again. 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  199 

Thou  knowest  that,  with  all  my  sins,  I  am  honest 
to  Thee.  Even  to  Thee  I  never  feign  to  feel  that 
which  is  absent.  I  fear  Thee  more  than  I  love  Thee, 
and  I  love  my  son  more  than  I  desire  perfect  good 
ness,  but  if  Thou  wilt  only  give  him  to  me  once 
more  I  will  strive  to  serve  Thee  even  with  my  hard 
ness.  Give  him  back  to  me,  that  I  may  hear  him 
say,  if  only  once,  that  he  loves  me,  and  then  punish 
me  as  Thou  wilt.  Amen." 

XIX. 

Madame  Nad ro vine,  with  the  practicality  which 
distinguished  her,  set  about  aiding  Providence  to 
answer  her  prayer.  She  employed  in  secret  the  ser 
vices  of  one  of  the  most  distinguished  detectives  in 
France,  and,  some  months  from  the  night  of  her 
interview  with  Ilva,  discovered  that  her  son  was  ill 
with  a  slow  fever  in  poor  apartments  in  one  of  the 
side-streets  of  Paris. 

She  knocked  at  the  door  of  his  room  the  day  after 
this  information  had  reached  her,  scarcely  waiting 
for  his  answer  before  entering.  It  was  a  small  room, 
with  whitewashed  walls  and  heavy  walnut  furniture 
of  that  awkward  and  obsolete  order  which  always 
manages  to  rise,  like  cream,  to  the  top  story  of  old 
houses.  The  windows  were  small,  set  with  panes 
of  greenish  glass,  and  spotted  a  dingy  yellow  over 
the  entire  upper  sash  by  repeated  layers  of  rain 
drops.  Opposite,  in  the  waterish  light  of  the  fading 


200  THE  WITNESS   OF  THE  SUN. 

afternoon,  the  zinc  roofs  and  awnings  gave  forth  a 
gray  glare,  which  seemed  to  be  reflected  in  the  black 
ooze  of  the  streets  below.  A  fine  and  steady  rain 
was  falling.  The  depressing  gleam  of  hundreds  of 
soaked  umbrellas  passing  and  repassing  far  below 
gave  one  a  sensation  of  desolation  which  was  aug 
mented  by  the  glisten  of  the  wet  cab-tops,  and  the 
swallows  preening  their  damp  feathers  on  the  branch 
of  a  dead  tree  near  the  grimy  window. 

Sunk  in  an  old  chair  covered  with  time-dimmed 
cretonne,  was  Nadrovine,  his  face  turned  listlessly 
towards  the  blank  patch  of  sky  visible  to  him  through 
the  clouded  casement,  his  hands  resting  inertly  on 
a  closed  book  which  was  sunk  between  his  knees. 
His  dark  dressing-gown,  folded  and  re-folded  about 
his  figure,  gave  a  wonderful  appearance  of  emacia 
tion.  His  hair,  grown  longer  during  his  illness,  re 
called  to  his  face  a  look  of  his  youth  as  represented  in 
the  miniature  which  he  had  taken  from  his  mother's 
neck  on  the  day  of  their  last  interview.  She  turned 
the  key  in  the  door,  which  she  closed  behind  her, 
and,  slipping  it  into  her  pocket,  advanced  a  few  steps. 

She  spoke  to  him.  "  Vladimir?"  she  said,  in  a 
low  voice. 

He  half  rose  from  the  great  chair,  steadying  him 
self  with  a  hand  on  either  arm.  His  pale  face  be 
came  suffused  with  blood. 

"  It  is  you  ?  ...  It  is  you  ?"  he  said,  on  short, 
rushing  breaths. 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  201 

"  Yes,  it  is  1 1  .  .  .  your  mother.  Did  you  think 
that  you  could  be  ill,  suffering,  and  I  not  find  it 
out?" 

He  continued  to  stare  at  her  in  silence,  his  quiver 
ing  arms  retaining  him  in  his  half-erect  posture. 

She  came  close  to  him  and  put  forth  her  hand  to 
force  him  gently  back  into  the  chair,  but  he  dropped 
from  her  touch  and  pressed  back  among  the  worn-out 
springs,  making  them  creak  with  his  sudden  energy 
of  sickness. 

"  I  ask  you  not  to  touch  me  !"  he  panted. 

"  But  you  cannot  expect  me  to  obey  you,  dear  great 
one?"  she  said,  bending  over  him,  with  the  smile 
which  no  other  had  ever  seen.  "  It  is  the  fancy  of 
an  invalid, — such  a  dear  invalid  !  .  .  .  But  you  have 
been  too  much  alone,  my  darling !" 

She  attempted  to  run  her  long  fingers  through  his 
hair. 

"  I  beg  of  you  ..."  he  reiterated,  in  the  tone 
of  one  exquisitely  tortured. 

"  Ah,  great  one,  great  one,  if  you  knew  the  anguish 
you  make  me  suffer,  you  would  try  to  overcome  these 
fancies  of  a  sick  child.  -You  wring  my  very  heart !" 

"  And  you  mine  !"  he  stammered.  His  weak  efforts 
to  push  the  heavy  chair  still  farther  from  her  made 
the  old  wire  padding  and  casters  creak  again.  "  I 
beg  of  you  to  go,"  he  whispered.  "  Only  go  !" 

"My  darling!  .  .  .  When  I  have  just  come  to 
care  for  you  !  .  .  .  Vladimir,  you  were  never  cruel." 


202  THE  WITNESS   OF  THE  SUN. 

"  I  do  not  mean  to  be ;  ...  that  is,  I  must  be 
..  .  .  Do  you  not  see  my  tortures?  ...  I  wish  only 
to  be  alone." 

"And  can  you  dream  for  an  instant  that,  even 
although  you  hated  me,  I  would  leave  you  alone 
when  I  see  you  ill?  See,  I  will  not  touch  you: 
...  I  will  only  stay  as  your  servant,  your  nurse. 
.  .  .  You  cannot  refuse  that  ?" 

"  Just  to  be  alone,  ...  to  be  alone  again  !"  mur 
mured  the  exhausted  man,  letting  his  eyes  close 
wearily. 

"  I  have  said  that  I  will  not  touch  you,  Vladimir. 
If  you  wish  it,  I  will  not  even  speak  to  you.  But 
you  cannot,  in  humanity,  tell  me  to  leave  you  !  You 
cannot  expect  me  to  obey  such  a  command  as  that, — 
you  whom  I  have  cradled  on  my  breast  in  the  most 
fearful  diseases !  Why,  I  drank  your  scorching 
breath  when  as  a  little  thing  of  two  you  had  diph 
theria  so  that  I  could  get  no  one  to  help  me  nurse 
you  but  a  Sister  of  Charity !  When  they  thought 
you  threatened  with  small-pox,  it  was  I — I  who 
nursed  you  night  and  day,  who  took  you  into  the  bed 
with  me,  between  the  very  sheets,  and  placed  your 
face  upon  my  bare  breast !  And  you  would  send  me 
from  you  now  ?  Ah,  no  !  no  !  You  are  a  true  man, 
tender,  gentle,  forgiving.  You  do  not  really  think 
of  such  a  thing !  My  son  !  .  .  .  my  first-  and  last- 
born  !" 

Nadrovine's  eyes  were  now  fixed  upon  his  mother's 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  203 

crouching  form,  in  an  expression  of  the  most  agonized 
entreaty  and  suffering.  His  temples  and  the  hollows 
beneath  his  eyes  were  beaded  with  sweat.  His  breath 
escaped  draggingly  through  his  half-parted  lips,  which 
moved  without  uttering  a  sound.  Some  one  laughed 
and  ran  a  halting  chromatic  scale  in  the  room  below 
as  though  trying  to  make  the  soulless,  rattling  in 
strument  giggle  an  accompaniment. 

"  Little  ape  !  you  have  been  stealing  raisins  again  !" 
exclaimed  a  shrill  voice  from  another  direction,  and 
the  sound  of  two  or  three  smart  slaps  was  followed 
by  the  droning  cries  of  a  small  child. 

"  Answer  me,  Vladimir !  .  .  .  Answer  me,  my 
heart,  my  darling !"  urged  his  mother,  still  kneel 
ing.  Her  great  fur  robes,  which  the  sudden  cold 
weather  had  caused  her  to  assume,  and  which  she 
had  not  removed  on  entering  the  chilly  apartment, 
hung  in  soft  splendor  about  her,  and  rose  into  a 
muffled  background  for  her  face,  which  shone  with 
the  luminousness  of  a  moonstone  in  the  white  light 
from  the  patch  of  sky  above. 

"  It  is  too  much  ...  I  have  too  much  ..."  he 
stammered,  still  staring  at  her. 

"  Then  why  do  you  not  wish  me  to  share  it  ? 
Why  do  you  send  me  away?  I  will  do  whatever 
you  wish.  See !  All  is  not  as  you  think.  All  is 
not  lost.  Listen,  Vladimir.  I  will  tell  you.  It  is 
good  news.  I  will  tell  you.  You  shall  have  her 
after  all !  You  shall  have  her,  my  own  !  Vladimir, 


204  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

speak  to  me  !  Speak  !  .  .  .  Do  not  sit  so  rigid.  .  .  . 
Look  at  me !  .  .  .  Speak  to  me  I"  She  rose,  stum 
bling  over  her  heavy  furs  in  her  eagerness  to  reach 
him,  but  before  she  could  touch  him  he  opened  his 
eyes,  and  something  in  their  expression  arrested  her 
where  she  stood. 

"  No  !  .  .  .  no  !"  she  hastened  to  assure  him,  sob- 
bingly.  "Do  not  look  at  me  like  that !  I  am  not 
going  to  touch  you.  ...  I  swear  it !" 

The  look  of  relief  which  crept  over  his  face  cut 
her  to  the  quick.  She  hurt  her  hands  with  their 
pinching  clasp  upon  each  other. 

"  You  shall  have  her.  .  .  .  You  shall  have  her/' 
she  repeated,  trembling  through  all  her  splendid 
frame. 

"  Do  not  speak  of  her !"  cried  Nadrovine,  in  a 
dreadful  voice.  He  bent  upon  her  another  of  those 
looks  which  had  frozen  her  and  with  the  memory 
of  which  she  was  now  trembling. 

"  I  know  all, — all.  It  has  come  to  me  in  my 
loneliness  and  illness  as  clear  as  day.  Scales  have 
fallen  from  my  eyes.  I  know  everything  Every 
thing  has  been  made  clear  to  me.  I  no  longer  think 
that  I  killed  him  by  accident.  No  !  it  was  God  who 

drove  my  sword  into  the  breast  of  your "  He 

broke  off;  his  lips  remained  parted.  "  No  !  no  !  I 
must  not  say  it !  ...  She  is  my  mother ;  .  .  after 
all,  she  is  my  mother.  .  .  .  r> 

Madame  Nadrovine  loosened  her  great  cloak  with 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  205 

a  quick  gesture  and  thrust  it  from  her.  All  of  a 
sudden  she  seemed  suffocating.  She  stood  before  him 
only  in  her  simple  black  gown,  her  bosom  rising  and 
falling  against  her  clinched  hands. 

"  What  is  it  that  you  mean  ?"  she  said,  almost  in 
a  whisper. 

"Do  not  act  to  me,  my  mother,"  he  replied, 
sternly.  "  For  in  your  heart  you  must  believe  with 
me  that  the  man  whom  I  killed  I  was  ordained  by 
God  to  kill  as  my  father's  defender/' 

His  name  burst  from  her  in  one  terrible  cry.  And 
then  again  she  uttered  it  in  a  heart-broken  note  of 
anguish  and  despair : 

"  You  believe  that  of  me  ?  ...  My  God !  my 
God  !  .  .  .  He  believes  that  I,  his  mother, — I,  his 
mother, — I,  who  have  worshipped  him,  who  have 
adored  him,  yes,  adored  him  before  very  God,  even 
as  Mary  adored  her  Son  ...  It  is  my  punish 
ment  !  ...  It  is  my  punishment !  .  .  .  Yes,  this 
is  to  be  my  Hell.  ...  I  will  carry  it  in  my  breast 
forever !" 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life,  JSadrovine  saw  his 
mother  break  into  piteous  weeping,  turning  from 
him  and  leaning  her  face  on  her  arms,  which  she 
rested  against  the  whitewashed  wall.  A  violent 
shuddering  took  possession  of  him.  The  Western 
Railway  terminus  was  not  far  distant,  and  the  shrill 
scream  of  an  approaching  train  mingled  discordantly 
with  the  chromatic  scales  which  were  again  sound- 
18 


206  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

ing  from  the  room  below.  A  girl  in  the  house  op 
posite  lighted  a  great  lamp  and  began  to  read,  rock 
ing  back  and  forth.  Nadrovine  heard  his  mother's 
weeping  mingle  with  the  commonplace  sounds,  in 
an  awful  discord.  The  droop  of  her  dark  figure 
against  the  white  wall  was  as  abandoned,  as  desolate, 
as  the  swaths  of  crape  on  white  tombstones.  Her 
beautiful  dark  head  was  bent  almost  out  of  sight 
under  its  weight  of  misery. 

"  Oh,  my  God !  Oh,  my  God  !"  he  heard  her  say 
over  and  over  again.  The  young  girl  in  the  oppo 
site  window,  whom  he  could  not  avoid  seeing  from 
the  side  of  his  eye,  seemed  to  be  rocking  in  time  to 
these  plaintive,  smothered  cries.  All  at  once  she 
turned,  revealing  to  him  her  face  marred  with  an 
guish, — its  loosened,  trembling  lips,  its  eyes  heavy 
with  tears.  She  looked  all  at  once  her  full  age. 
In  the  cold  light  from  above,  her  hair  seemed  sud 
denly  to  be  streaked  with  gray. 

"Do  you  know  me?"  she  asked,  with  faltering 
eagerness.  "  Do  you  know  who  I  am  ?"  It  was 
heart-rending,  this  last  desperate  clutching  at  the 
possibility  of  his  delirium.  "  Speak  my  name.  Tell 
me  who  I  am,"  she  continued,  holding  herself  from 
him,  as  it  were,  with  the  pressure  of  her  strong 
hands  against  her  breast. 

"  Too  well.  ...  I  know  too  well,"  he  said,  in  a 
choked  voice. 

"  But  say  it,  then  !  say  it !  ...  Speak  my  name. 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  207 

I  wish  to  hear  what  you  will  say.  I  beg  it  of 
you  1" 

"Oh,  my  mother/7  exclaimed  JSTadroviue,  "do 
you  not  see  that  you  are  killing  me  ?  ...  I  cannot 
forget.  ...  In  spite  of  all, — yes,  in  spite  of  all,  I 
love  you,  ...  God  knows  !" 

He  would  have  gone  on,  but  she  flung  herself 
against  his  knees  with  a  great  cry.  Her  face  was 
radiant,  brilliant,  tremulous  with  smiles, — the  face 
of  a  young  mother  whose  first-born  has  just  been 
placed  in  her  arms. 

"  Again, — once  more  !  Say  that  you  love  me, 
only  once  again.  It  is  the  answer  to  my  prayer. 
Afterwards  the  punishment.  .  .  .  Vladimir,  ...  it 
is  your  mother, — it  is  your  mother  who  humbles 
herself  to  you,  who  prays  to  you,  .  .  .  your  small 
one.  ...  I  seem  to  hold  you  again  in  my  breast. 
You  love  me, — you  have  said  it.  ...  No  matter 
what  you  believe  of  me,  you  love  me." 

Nadrovine  covered  his  face  with  both  hands. 

"  Have  pity  !"  he  said,  in  a  hoarse  voice. 

"  But  you  love  me !  ...  you  love  me !  ...  I 
can  bear  anything  knowing  that.  .  .  .  And  you  will 
overcome  this  other  horrible  fancy.  I  know  it.  ... 
When  you  are  strong  and  well  again,  you  will  come 
and  kneel  to  me  for  forgiveness.  Oh,  I  know,— -I !" 

She  leaped  to  her  feet,  straightening  her  tall  figure 
superbly.  "I  can  bear  anything,  anything,  now," 
she  continued,  half  chanting  the  words  as  she  began 


208  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

to  move  about  the  little  room,  drawing  a  chair  into 
place,  fastening  back  one  of  the  bed-curtains  of  dim 
bluish  cretonne  which  had  fallen  from  its  loop  of 
tarnished  silver  cord.  She  opened  the  door  of  the 
ugly  little  stove  and  peeped  in  to  see  if  it  needed 
replenishing,  tossing  in  a  coal  or  two  with  her  long, 
white  fingers  from  which  she  had  drawn  her  gloves. 
The  glowing  light  fell  rosily  on  her  sparkling  face, 
and  on  the  patches  of  whitewash  which  remained 
upon  the  bosom  and  sleeves  of  her  black  gown  from 
their  contact  with  the  wall. 

"  We  must  have  lights,"  she  said,  excitedly.  "  It 
is  growing  dark.  And  there  must  be  medicine  for 
you  to  take.  Where  is  it?  And  when  did  you 
lunch  ?  It  must  be  six  o'clock.  You  must  have 
some  food.  What  does  the  doctor  allow  you?  I 
will  go  and  fetch  it  myself." 

Nadrovine,  weakened,  made  incapable  of  any  sus 
tained  effort,  by  a  wasting  illness,  seemed  suddenly 
to  have  yielded. 

"You  will  find  the  medicine  in  that  little  cup 
board  in  the  corner,"  he  replied.  "  Two  teaspoon- 
fuls  in  a  wineglass  of  water." 

"  And  the  food,  great  one, — what  must  I  prepare 
for  you  ?" 

"  Nothing.  ...  A  glass  of  milk  at  seven,  with 
a  little  lime-water  in  it.  But  I  am  convalescent 
now.  The  medicine  is  only  a  tonic." 

She  poured  it  out,  holding  it  up  between  her  eyes 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  209 

and  the  waning  light  in  order  to  assure  herself  of  a 
correct  measurement.  She  then  lighted  a  students- 
lamp  which  she  discovered  on  a  small  table  near  the 
bed,  tearing  out  the  fly-leaf  of  a  book  to  make  a 
lamp-lighter. 

"  Just  a  moment,"  she  said,  as  she  placed  it  near 
him,  "while  I  bid  the  concierge  to  send  up  a  boy 
with  my  travelling-case." 

She  was  only  absent  a  few  moments,  From  the 
case,  which  had  been  placed  on  the  bed,  she  took 
out  one  of  her  favorite  white  crape  peignoirs  and 
some  pretty,  gold-colored  mules.  Her  favorite  per 
fume  of  white  lilacs  made  spring  seem  an  invisible 
presence  in  the  low,  stuffy  room.  She  cast  aside  her 
black  gown,  and  assumed  the  peignoir,  stooping  her 
self  to  unbutton  her  boots,  and  with  her  usual  dainti 
ness  drawing  on  stockings  of  gold-colored  silk,  in 
place  of  the  black  ones  which  she  wore,  before  as 
suming  the  graceful  slippers.  She  then  unfastened, 
brushed,  and  re-braided  her  long  hair,  humming  to 
herself  before  the  little  wavy  glass  over  its  shelf  in 
the  wall  as  she  did  so,  with  her  mouth  full  of  hair 
pins. 

XX. 

As  she  turned  from  this  task,  she  saw  that  Na- 
drovine  had  apparently  fallen  asleep.  She  stood 
looking  down  at  him,  her  hand  raised  half  warn- 
ingly,  as  though  entreating  his  guardian  angel  not 
to  rustle  her  wings  too  loudly.  She  did  not  touch 
o  18* 


210  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

him;  she  scarcely  dared  to  breathe.  It  took  her 
some  moments  to  move  to  the  door  softly  enough 
and  to  open  it  in  search  of  the  milk  and  lime-water 
which  was  to  constitute  his  dinner.  Having  slipped 
on  her  boots  again  and  covered  herself  from  head 
to  foot  with  the  fur  cloak,  she  came  back  with  it 
in  a  little  case  for  ice  which  she  had  gone  to  pur 
chase  herself,  and  with  the  last  bit  of  ice  which  she 
could  find  at  the  nearest  chemist's.  She  placed  these 
treasures  in  the  corner  of  the  room  which  was  farthest 
from  the  stove,  and  then,  glancing  at  ISTadrovine, 
established  herself  in  one  of  the  two  remaining 
chairs,  with  her  feet  on  the  other.  It  was  so  still 
in  this  lonely  street  that  the  hum  of  the  distant 
thoroughfares  reached  one  no  more  distinctly  than 
the  confused  murmur  of  a  shell  placed  at  one's  ear, 
and  he  could  hear  plainly  the  ticking  of  the  little 
watch  which  she  always  wore  on  her  left  arm,  and 
which  seemed  to  mark  time  for  the  crooning  noise 
emitted  by  the  pan  of  water  on  the  stove  near  by. 

Nadrovine  watched  her  beneath  his  half-closed 
lids  for  at  least  an  hour  before  altering  his  position. 
He  then  sighed  heavily,  and  she  was  at  his  side 
in  a  moment  with  the  glass  of  milk. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  have  gone  without  it  too  long," 
she  said,  anxiously ;  "  but  I  could  not  bear  to  wake 
you."  He  drank  it  obediently,  and  she  then  left 
him,  saying  that  while  he  prepared  for  bed  she  would 
sit  on  the  stairway  just  outside.  When  she  returned 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  211 

he  was  in  bed,  and  seemed  to  have  fallen  asleep 
again  from  sheer  weakness.  She  ran  her  strong 
hand  once  or  twice  down  the  bedclothes  with  a 
gesture  of  inexpressible  tenderness,  and  then  kneeled 
down  suddenly,  resting  her  head  and  hands  against 
his  feet.  Her  prayer  lasted  so  long  that  one  might 
have  fancied  her  to  have  fallen  asleep  after  the  ex 
citement  of  the  past  hours ;  but  she  rose  at  last, 
vigorous  and  self-contained  as  ever,  this  time  placing 
herself  in  the  chair  which  Nadrovine  had  occupied, 
and  turning  down  the  lamp.  The  night  passed  on. 
Hour  after  hour  slid  dayward  in  a  silence  broken 
only  by  the  occasional  rumbling  jolts  of  some  cart 
in  the  street  below,  and  the  incessant  purring  noise 
of  the  pan  of  water,  which  from  time  to  time  she 
rose  to  replenish. 

A  sudden,  sharp,  clicking  sound  roused  her  with 
a  start.  Broad  daylight  drenched  the  misty  air 
without,  and  gave  to  the  bleak  whitewashed  walls 
surrounding  her  all  the  ghastly  candor  of  a  corpse's 
face  unveiled  by  day.  Nadrovine  was  standing, 
entirely  dressed,  by  the  open  door.  It  was  the 
click  of  the  unoiled  latch  which  had  awakened  her. 
She  was  beside  him  in  an  instant. 

"What  is  it?  ...  What  do  you  wish?  .  .  . 
Where  are  you  going  ?  I  will  get  anything  that  you 
wish.  .  .  .  Come  !  Come  back  to  bed." 

Again  she  thought  him  delirious,  but  he  answered 
her  gravely  and  collectedly  : 


212  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

"  I  had  hoped  that  you  would  not  wake.  ...  I 
must  go.  I  have  my  senses  perfectly.  ...  I  have 
thought  of  it  all  night." 

"  Where  ?     Where  is  it  that  you  are  going  ?" 

"  To  Alceron." 

"  To  Alceron  !  To-  Normandy  !  Whom  do  you 
know  in  Normandy?  We  have  no  friends  there, 
— no  one  to  whose  house  you  could  go  as  an  ill 
man." 

"  I  have  said  that  I  am  convalescent.  And  then 
my  friend  is  a  priest, — or  rather  a  monk." 

"But  why  do  you  go  to-day?  .  .  .  Why  were 
you  stealing  away  from  me  ?  Ah !  come  back,  I 
implore  you, — or  at  least  close  the  door.  That  chill 
draught  is  dreadful." 

"I  have  no  time.  I  must  go  at  once.  It  is  a 
matter  of  importance." 

"A  matter  of  importance?  What  can  be  so  im 
portant  as  your  health  ?" 

"  I  must  go,  and  at  once." 

"  You  are  determined  ?" 

"  Absolutely." 

"  Will  nothing, — nothing " 

"  No,  no.  It  is  imperative.  There  is  nothing  to 
which  I  could  listen." 

She  stood  watching  him,  her  face  sharp  with  anxiety. 

"  Then  I  must  go  with  you  !"  she  broke  in,  inter 
rupting  him. 

"  Impossible !"  said  Nadrovine,  hastily.     "  I  have 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  213 

only  a  few  moments.  It  may  be  that  I  will  miss 
the  train  now.  There  !  There  is  a  whistle  now." 

"  That  is  a  train  coming  in.  Cannot  you  tell  the 
difference  ?  A  moment, — just  a  moment.77 

"No,  I  cannot  wait.  It  would  take  too  long. 
You  could  not  get  ready  in  time." 

"  But  I  am  ready  now/7  said  his  mother. 

While  they  were  speaking,  she  had  thrust  her  feet 
into  her  boots,  and  assumed  her  long  fur  cloak,  which 
completely  hid  the  white  crape  gown  underneath,  and 
now  pressed  through  the  door  at  his  side,  fastening 
on  her  hat  with  trembling  fingers. 

"  Come,  then  !77  said  Nadrovine,  growing  paler 
than  ever.  She  followed  him  down  the  long  flights 
of  stairs,  her  unbuttoned  boots  sounding  clumsily 
on  the  uncarpeted  wood,  her  hands  still  nervously 
busy  with  her  hat.  They  passed  together  out  into 
the  raw  morning  air,  which  was  gradually  becoming 
broken  and  lively  with  the  clattering  of  the  milk 
maids'  pails,  the  running  of  children's  feet  along 
the  pavement,  the  bells  of  hurrying  asses,  the  sound 
of  brooms  in  the  opening  shop-doors  and  laughter 
issuing  from  their  dim  recesses.  Before  one  of  these 
shops  a  little  thing  of  six  was  watering  the  side- walk 
with  a  large  watering-pot,  and  some  of  the  spray 
dashed  Madame  Nadrovine7s  ankles  as  she  passed 
by,  her  boots  still  flapping  untidily  with  her  swift 
movements.  So  unwonted  a  sight  were  slovenly  feet 
even  in  summer  Paris  that  the  little  gamine  with 


214  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

the  watering-pot  paused  in  her  occupation  to  stare 
after  the  tall  lady  who  wore  yellow  silk  stockings  in 
the  street  and  who  left  her  boots  unfastened.  Even 
the  fruit-venders  yawning  over  their  stalls  and  with 
their  chins  and  throats  gilded  by  the  reflected  light 
from  the  piles  of  oranges  beneath  were  transfixed 
with  a  sense  of  bewilderment. 

As  they  rolled  out  of  the  great  station,  the  ball  of 
the  sun  appeared  in  sodden  crimson  behind  a  bank 
of  dense  gray,  making  the  soaked,  dark  masses  of 
the  bridges  appear  more  imposing  and  sombre  than 
ever  by  its  lurid  flaring  in  the  water  below. 

The  whole  journey  was  passed  in  utter  silence. 

She  was  at  last  convinced  that  the  excitement  of 
fever  had  nothing  to  do  with  his  actions.  He  was 
pursuing  some  plan  long  meditated  upon,  and  which 
her  presence  had  probably  brought  to  a  crisis.  There 
were  only  two -other  people  in  the  carriage, — an  old 
man,  and  a  child  of  about  nine, — a  graceful  elf,  not 
unlike  little  Lotta  Boutry  with  her  dark  curls  and 
large  gray  eyes.  She  amused  herself  by  making  a 
"  mouse"  out  of  her  small  pocket-handkerchief  and 
causing  it  to  jump  to  different  parts  of  the  carriage. 
By  accident  it  chanced  to  strike  Nadrovine  on  the 
hand.  He  started  and  turned  his  head. 

"  Oh,  monsieur  !  I  ask  you  a  thousand  pardons  I" 
cried  the  little  witch,  growing  crimson  in  a  genuine 
embarrassment.  Her  likeness  to  Lotta  struck  him 
at  once.  He  smiled. 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  215 

"Do  not  look  so  alarmed,  my  dear,"  he  said, 
kindly.  "  Come  here,  and  I  will  show  you  how  to 
make  a  cure*  with  your  handkerchief."  And,  as  the 
child  sidled  up  to  him,  he  gravely  drew  a  knot  in 
the  bit  of  cambric,  and,  placing  it  over  his  forefinger 
to  represent  the  cure^s  head,  proceeded  to  wave  his 
thumb  and  second  finger,  as  though  making  the  cure" 
gesticulate  violently  with  his  arms.  He  seemed  to 
himself  to  have  suddenly  become  childish,  so  easily 
was  he  moved  to  joining  in  the  child's  merriment 
at  the  antics  of  this  strange  little  priest.  He  then 
talked  to  her,  and  told  her  stories  until  she  fell  asleep 
with  her  head  almost  in  the  pocket  of  his  coat.  She 
and  the  old  man  were  both  asleep  when  they  reached 
Alceron,  and  he  stooped  and  kissed  her  before  he  got 
out.  Had  he  glanced  at  his  mother,  her  drawn,  set 
face  would  assuredly  have  struck  to  his  heart ;  but 
he  did  not  turn  his  head  in  her  direction.  In  fact, 
he  had  almost  forgotten  her  presence.  His  thoughts 
and  sensations  seemed  to  him  as  unfamiliar  as  the 
scenes  which  surrounded  him. 

As  they  walked  along  the  principal  street  of  the 
little  village,  they  saw  that  the  sun  had  disappeared, 
and  that  a  drizzling  rain  was  beginning  to  fall.  The 
booming  of  the  heavy  surf  thundered  through  the 
damp  air,  seeming  to  make  the  ground  vibrate  be 
neath  their  feet.  Far  out  at  sea  fell  a  leaden  gleam 
from  a  ragged  gap  in  the  clouds.  The  quaint  houses 
of  black  flint  mottled  with  patches  of  whitewash 


216  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

seemed  pushing  against  each  other  in  their  march 
seaward.  One  could  see  the  splendid,  yellow- white 
waves  shaking  their  crests  angrily  as  they  reared  and 
plunged  against  the  great  stone  quay.  A  sail  passed 
into  the  glary  light  far  away,  tossed  wildly  for  a  mo 
ment  or  two,  and  then  dashed  on  into  the  gloom  be 
yond,  while  a  keen  wind,  stinging  with  salt,  swept  the 
street  from  end  to  end. 

Nadrovine  walked  rapidly,  bending  his  head  to 
prevent  the  wind  from  carrying  away  his  hat,  and 
his  mother  kept  close  behind  him.  Moisture  dripped 
from  her  hat,  from  the  sables  that  enveloped  her, 
from  her  falling  hair.  Her  feet  were  now  drenched, 
and  the  constant  slipping  of  the  unbuttoned  boots 
had  chafed  her  heels  until  each  step  was  a  pain. 

They  paused  before  a  small  house  shrinking  back 
under  its  projecting  roof  like  a  shy  child  under  its 
hood.  Some  one  spoke  through  the  closed  door,  and 
Nadrovine  answered  in  Latin.  He  was  admitted  at 
once,  and  his  mother,  shivering  under  her  heavy 
cloak,  crouched  down  under  the  shelter  of  the  old 
portico  to  wait  for  him.  He  returned  after  an  in 
terval  of  perhaps  an  hour.  A  man  was  with  him, 
a  monk,  whose  heavy  cowl  pulled  forward  concealed 
all  of  his  face  except  a  pale,  handsome  mouth,  and 
a  fine  chin,  bluish  with  much  shaving. 

They  passed  Madame  Nadrovine  in  silence,  and 
walked  together  down  the  slanting  street,  the  monk's 
heavy  gown  beating  about  his  limbs  in  the  fresh 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  217 

blasts  of  wind.  She  struggled  after  them.  Her 
feet  now  pained  her  so  intensely  that  she  took  off 
her  boots  and  hid  them  under  her  cloak,  experiencing 
a  delightful  sensation  of  relief  each  time  that  her 
feet  sunk  to  her  ankles  in  the  oozing  sand. 

The  monastery  of  Alceron  is  built  upon  a  neck 
of  land  that  juts  out  into  the  sea,  and  its  cliffs  are 
worn  away  by  the  boiling  waves  like  a  stack  of  hay 
nibbled  by  cattle  in  winter.  It  is  a  great  building 
of  dark  granite,  and  utterly  out  of  keeping  with  the 
chapels  which  flank  it,  and  which  are  specimens  of 
the  most  soaring  Gothic,  their  slender  spires  and 
steeples  seeming  to  pierce  the  low-hanging  clouds 
with  a  species  of  exultation. 

Up  a  narrow  stairway  cut  in  the  stone,  and  shiny 
with  moss,  Madame  Nadrovine  followed  the  two  men. 
She  was  dazed,  breathless,  almost  callous  with  mental 
and  physical  pain.  Her  eyes  seemed  pierced  by  two 
red-hot  knitting-needles  which,  ever  turning,  were 
thrust  deep  into  her  brain.  The  ceaseless  boom  of 
the  vast  breakers  seemed  part  of  the  tumult  in  her 
hot  head. 

Unfastening  her  hat,  she  let  it  escape  from  her  hand 
and  fall  whirling  down  into  the  sea.  It  skimmed, 
slanting  and  dipping,  for  two  or  three  seconds  over 
the  wThite  surge,  like  a  raven  with  a  broken  wing, 
and  then  disappeared.  She  pushed  back  her  satu 
rated  hair  and  struggled  on.  Below  stretched  the 
village,  the  corn-lands,  the  plunging  ocean.  A  train 
K  19 


218  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

rushed  through  the  sodden  valley,  leaving  behind  it 
volumes  of  black  smoke,  which,  uncurling  lazily, 
hung  low  over  the  drenched  fields  until  they  dis 
solved  into  the  thick  air. 

As  Nadrovine  was  about  to  pass  within  the  iron- 
bound  doors  of  the  monastery,  however,  his  mother 
sprang  forward  and  thrust  herself  between  the  monk 
and  her  son. 

"  Tell  me,  ...  "  she  cried,—"  tell  me  what  it  is 
that  you  are  going  to  do  !" 

The  monk  stared  at  her  in  surprise,  drawing  away 
his  gown  from  the  contamination  of  a  woman's  gar 
ments. 

"  You  shall  tell  me,"  she  repeated, — "  one  of  you. 
Speak  \" 

"  Who  is  this  woman  ?"  said  the  monk  to  Nadro- 
vine,  and  was  answered  in  a  whisper,  and  in  two 
words : 

"  My  mother." 

"  Her  place  is  not  here,"  said  the  monk,  coldly. 
"  Have  you  not  made  your  farewells  ?" 

"  What  is  this  ?  What  do  you  mean  ?"  cried  Ma 
dame  Nadrovine,  fiercely.  "  I  know  nothing  !  What 
farewells?  My  son  has  been  desperately  ill  with 
brain-fever.  He  is  now  out  of  his  mind.  Yes,  it 
is  my  belief  that  he  is  now  a  maniac  from  fever. 
What  advantage  are  you  trying  to  take  of  him? 
Vladimir,  come ;  let  us  return.  This  exposure  may 
mean  death  to  you." 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  219 

"  It  is  impossible,"  he  said,  in  a  dull  tone.  He 
had  not  once  lifted  his  eyes  from  the  ground. 

"  You  are  mad !"  said  his  mother.  "  You  are 
beside  yourself  with  fever. — You,  whoever  you  are, 
are  taking  advantage  of  an  insane  man." 

"I  have  been  his  confessor  for  eight  months," 
replied  the  monk.  "  This  step  has  been  long  medi 
tated." 

"What  step?  .  .  .  What  step?"  she  exclaimed, 
angrily.  "  Vladimir,  answer  me  yourself.  I  com 
mand  you." 

"  Answer,  my  son,"  said  the  monk,  in  a  low  voice. 
And  then  these  words  escaped  the  lips  of  Nadrovine 
as  though  uttered  by  a  machine : 

"It  is  my  desire  of  my  own  free  will  to  enter 
the  monastery  of  Alceron  as  a  permanent  member, 
to  take  the  vow  of  silence,  and  to  live  a  life  of  self- 
denial  both  in  body  and  in  soul." 

XXI. 

Madame  Nadrovine's  next  action  astounded  the 
monk,  who  expected  a  violent  scene,  accompanied  by 
tears  and  reproaches.  She  stepped  back,  gathering 
her  wet  clothes  about  her  with  one  of  those  royal 
gestures  which  she  knew  how  to  assume  without 
becoming  theatrical,  and  said,  in  a  clear,  self-con 
tained  voice, — 

"Go,  then!" 

Nadrovine  did  not  stir.      His  face  preserved  its 


220  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

immobile  pallor.  Not  a  muscle  started  or  quiv 
ered. 

"  Go,  then  !"  repeated  his  mother,  in  her  ringing 
tones.  "  Since  it  is  your  desire,  it  is  mine  also.  I 
wish  no  love  nor  duty  that  does  not  come  to  me  as 
a  free  gift." 

The  deep  notes  of  the  vesper-bell  mingled  with 
the  strident  shriek  of  a  little  tug  which  was  ap 
proaching  the  quay  below.  From  the  doors  of  the 
monastery  came  a  band  of  monks,  solemn,  implacable 
figures  in  their  dark  gowns  and  cowls.  They  passed 
by  the  strange  group  without  appearing  to  notice  it, 
and  entered  the  chapel  to  the  right.  One  heard  their 
sonorous  chanting  muffled  by  the  great  walls. 

The  monk  touched  Nadrovine  on  the  shoulder. 
"It  wants  but  an  hour  of  the  time,  my  son,"  he 
said. 

Madame  Nadrovine  had  not  yet  relaxed  her  defiant, 
towering  pose. 

As  though  impelled  by  some  force  within,  Na- 
drovine  turned  and  entered  the  chapel  with  the 
monk.  The  ponderous  doors  closed  behind  them. 
And  at  that  irrevocable  sight  the  whole  force  and 
meaning  of  it  all  seemed  to  sweep  over  the  woman 
like  a  whirlwind.  Dashing  herself  forward,  she  beat 
the  doors  with  her  hands,  bruising  them  on  the  enor 
mous  iron  nails  with  which  they  were  studded,  weep 
ing,  crying  aloud,  now  praying  to  God,  now  cursing 
His  cruelty  which  had  taken  from  her  the  one  creature 


THE  WITNESS   OF  THE  SUN.  221 

whom  she  had  ever  loved.  She  looked  like  a  mag 
nificent  evil  spirit  demanding  entrance  to  the  sacred 
place,  that  she  might  wreak  her  vengeance  on  some 
hated  one  within.  Her  face,  dark  and  swollen  with 
rage,  lost  every  trace  of  its  rare  beauty.  She  called 
down  every  ill  of  earth  and  purgatory  upon  those 
who  had  enticed  her  son  from  her.  The  savage  in 
her  seemed  suddenly  to  have  broken  through  every 
restraint  of  tradition  and  custom,  and  to  have  trans 
formed  her  into  a  fury  whose  tongue  uttered  alter 
nately  the  most  withering  blasphemies  and  cries  for 
mercy  like  those  of  an  animal  which  is  being  vivi 
sected. 

Her  fury  exhausted  itself  at  last,  and  she  sank 
down  on  the  chapel  steps,  letting  her  head  lean  back 
against  the  lintel.  Twilight  was  gathering.  A 
broad,  violet-colored  star  throbbed  in  the  sky  be 
tween  tatters  of  wind-torn  cloud.  In  the  village, 
and  along  the  quay,  lights  sprang  out  against  the 
darkness,  and  on  the  little  tugs  they  also  twinkled 
gayly.  The  monastery  was  a  sullen,  uncompro 
mising  squareness  against  the  pearl-colored  sky. 
Hoarse  screaming  and  puffings  ascended  from  the 
water  below,  sounds  of  shouting,  of  bells,  of  men's 
and  women's  voices  mingled  in  drunken  laughter. 
That  serene  violet  flame  burned  quietly  over  all. 
The  woman  fixed  on  it  her  hot  eyes.  It  rested  her 
to  imagine  it  merely  an  opening  in  heaven's  floor, 
rather  than  another  world,  vast,  and  with  a  misery 
19* 


222  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

vaster  in  proportion  than  this  world  upon  which, 
the  wretched  drama  of  her  life  was  being  played. 
The  intoning  of  the  monks  within  reached  her  in  a 
melancholy  cadence,  as  indistinct,  as  weird,  as  the 
voices  of  the  Seven  Sleepers  talking  in  their  dreams 
might  have  sounded  to  a  listener  at  the  mouth  of 
their  cave.  She  even  caught  a  whiff  of  the  burn 
ing  incense.  Her  feet  began  to  ache  intolerably, 
witn  a  throbbing,  burning  pulsation,  and  she  held 
them,  first  one  and  then  the  other,  in  the  palms  of 
her  hands,  which  she  first  cooled  upon  the  stones  of 
the  damp  wall. 

She  sat  there,  it  seemed  to  her,  for  many  hours. 
The  heavy  doors  opened  at  last,  and  the  warm  air 
within  rushed  out,  enveloping  her  in  its  steam  of 
breath  and  incense,  and  the  odor  of  woollen  gowns, 
sandal-wood,  leather,  moth-eaten  embroideries.  The 
monks  each  carried  a  tall  taper  which  left  behind  it 
a  little  stream  of  brown  smoke,  and  which  brought 
out  clearly  the  modelling  of  mouths  and  chins.  She 
let  them  pass,  thirty,  forty,  even  fifty,  and  then  she 
leaped  forward  and  threw  her  strong  arms  around 
the  fifty-first.  He  staggered,  swayed,  his  candle 
falling  from  his  hand  and  singeing  her  hair  as  it 
fell.  The  darkness  hid  his  face.  There  was  con 
fusion  among  the  monks :  they  wavered  and  halted, 
not  knowing  what  had  happened. 

"Vladimir!  Vladimir!"  groaned  a  woman's 
voice,  in  an  ecstasy  of  pain, — "  my  great  one, — my 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  223 

only  one, — my  son, — speak  !  Say  some  word  to  me  ! 
My  son  !  My  son  !" 

He  struggled  with  her  in  silence.  The  solemn 
vows  which  he  had  just  taken  sealed  his  lips.  The 
other  monks  were  also  of  a  necessity  silent.  They 
jostled  against  each  other  in  awed  curiosity,  drop 
ping  the  hot  wax  from  their  tapers  on  their  sandalled 
feet  and  blowing  gowns.  Many  of  the  candles 
were  extinguished.  One  of  the  monks  took  Na- 
drovine  by  the  arm  and  tried  to  force  him  along, 
but  the  woman  was  stronger  than  he  had  thought ; 
her  arms  held  the  knees  of  her  son  as  in  a  hoop  of 
steel : 

"  Speak  to  me  !  Speak  to  me  !  I  command  you, 
— I,  your  mother, — I  who  gave  you  birth.  You  are 
my  flesh,  torn  from  me  with  horrible  pain.  My  life, 
my  youth,  everything  I  have  given  to  you.  You 
have  no  right !  God  will  curse  you,  and  all  these 
with  you  !  You  will  die  horribly  !  My  curse  will 
be  upon  you  !  My  curse  will  be  upon  all  these  who 
have  taken  you  from  me  !  May  God " 

Some  one  thrust  her  roughly  backward,  and  she 
fell,  her  head  striking  one  of  the  stone  steps.  The 
procession  passed  on.  One  of  the  monks  hesitated, 
and  half  turned,  but  was  pressed  forward  by  those 
behind.  They  were  all  received  into  the  vast  hall 
of  the  monastery  of  Alceron,  and  its  vine- wood  doors 
closed  behind  them. 

When  she  opened  her  eyes  at  last,  that  violet-hued 


224  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

star  still  pulsed  quietly  over  Alceron,  but  there  were 
multitudes  to  keep  it  company.  The  sky  was  sown 
with  them,  and  they  pricked  the  heaving  water  below 
with  sharp  little  blades  of  light. 

The  noise  of  laughter  and  singing  still  rose  from 
the  quay  below.  On  her  left  the  black  pile  of  the 
monastery  wore  a  solemn  grandeur.  She  lifted  her 
arms  towards  it  and  cursed  it,  together  with  all  its 
inmates,  then,  turning,  groped  her  way  with  her  deli 
cate  bare  feet  and  hands  towards  the  moss-covered 
stairway  in  the  rock.  That  feeling  of  unreality  which 
always  attends  one  in  a 'great  crisis  claimed  and  over 
powered  her.  She  endeavored  to  descend  the  slippery 
stairs,  but,  after  falling  once  or  twice,  sat  down  and 
worked  her  way  along  by  the  aid  of  her  arms  and 
the  pressure  of  her  feet  against  the  stone  directly 
below  her.  When  she  finally  found  herself  at  the 
bottom,  she  did  not  know  which  way  to  go.  Fixing 
her  eyes  on  the  brightest  light  visible,  she  began  to 
walk  towards  it. 

After  perhaps  half  an  hour,  she  found  herself 
before  a  tavern,  which  was  brilliantly  lighted  for  so 
small  a  village,  with  several  large  oil  lamps,  but, 
strange  to  say,  the  crowd  had  collected  outside  of 
the  open  door  instead  of  within. 

One  of  the  men  caught  sight  of  her  as  she  came 
forward,  her  dark  hair  hanging  about  her  face  in 
sodden  disorder,  some  blood  from  a  wound  which 
she  had  received  in  one  of  her  falls  when  attempting 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  225 

to  descend  the  stone  stairway  staining  her  temple  and 
cheek,  her  robe  of  sable  pulpy  and  forlorn  like  the 
coat  of  some  drenched  wild  beast. 

"  You're  a  pretty  sight !"  called  one  of  the  men, 
roughly, — a  brawny  sailor  with  a  head  of  matted 
black  curls  and  the  jaw  of  an  Irishman.  "  I  say," 
he  roared  to  the  others,  "  she  looks  like  a  bear  that 
has  just  swallowed  a  woman  all  but  her  head  !" 

There  was  a  chorus  of  appreciative  laughter.  The 
woman  whom  they  ridiculed  stared  at  them  coldly. 
When  the  laughter  had  subsided,  she  asked,  in  a 
calm  voice, — 

"  Why  do  you  stay  out  here  in  the  street  to  bellow, 
when  you  might  be  in  that  room  there  ?" 

The  crowd  received  this  remark  in  silence,  being 
rather  overwhelmed  at  her  coolness. 

"  You  are  one  to  ask  questions,  mafoi  !"  exclaimed 
one  of  the  women,  finally,  with  a  light  impertinence. 
"  I  should  wish  to  know  where  you  would  find  your 
self  if  we  asked  you  all  the  questions  that  we  felt 
disposed  to  ask  !" 

"  I  should  remain  where  I  now  am  and  endeavor 
to  answer  them  civilly,"  replied  Madame  Nadrovine, 
in  the  same  tranquil  voice.  A  little  mumbling  of 
applause  was  heard  at  this,  and  she  took  advantage 
of  it  to  repeat  her  question.  The  people  were  be 
ginning  to  see  that  she  was  no  common  character, 
and  one  of  the  men  answered  her  with  a  certain 
respect, — 
P 


226  THE  WITNESS   OF  THE  SUN. 

"  It  is  Jean  Givelot,  who  is  ill  with  the  fever, — 
at  least  with  that  and  a  mixture  of  the  drink-crazi- 
ness.  We  were  all  in  there  when  he  was  taken.  I 
went  for  the  doctor.  It  was  droll  to  see  us  when 
he  said  what  it  was.  We  all  tumbled  on  each  other 
in  our  haste  to  get  outside,  like  so  many  sheep.  Ore" ! 
our  sweethearts  had  to  take  care  of  themselves,  I  tell 
you.  The  devil  might  have  had  the  hindmost,  for 
all  we  cared  !"  And  again  a  shout  of  merriment 
ascended.  As  it  died  away,  there  could  be  heard  the 
groans  and  entreaties  of  the  man  within  : 

"  Do  you  not  see  them  ?  Do  you  not  see  them  ? 
A  hundred  thousand  great  pink  rats.  They  are  clear 
like  jelly;  one  can  see  through  them.  And  their 
tails  wriggle  like  serpents;  They  nibble  me.  Oh  ! 
oh !  they  are  serpents !  They  nibble  me  and  sting 
me  all  at  once.  Oh !" 

"  You  hear,"  said  the  man,  significantly.  "  It  is 
this  way  with  him  once  every  two  or  three  years, 
and  it  is  bad  enough,  God  knows;  but  now  that 
he  has  the  fever  with  it,  one  can't  tell  where  it  will 
end." 

"  Who  is  with  him  ?"  said  Madame  Nadrovine. 

"No  one.  The  doctor  has  gone  to  fetch  some 
one ;  that  is,  if  he  can  find  any  one  just  for  the  night. 
A  nurse  has  been  telegraphed  for." 

"  Yes,  I  took  the  telegraph.  The  doctor  promised 
me  two  sous,"  said  a  little  monkey  who  stood  by, 
expanding  his  naked  brown  chest. 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  227 

."  And  there  is  no  one  with  him  ?"  said  Madame 
Nadrovine  again. 

"  No  one  !  not  a  soul !  not  even  a  cat !"  resounded 
from  all  sides. 

She  moved  forward,  pushing  open  the  door,  which 
swung  easily  at  her  touch. 

"You  are  all  cowards, — all  human  beings/'  she 
said,  in  her  clear  voice,  and,  before  they  knew  it, 
had  passed  into  the  room  beyond,  through  the  door 
with  its  transparent  glass  panes  which  had  "  Le  Cafe" 
Dore",  Jean  Givelot  Proprie"teur,"  in  an  arch  of  gilt 
letters  across  its  clear  expanse.  They  flattened  their 
faces  against  the  panes,  watching  her  walk  across 
the  floor  and  disappear  within  a  room  beyond,  from 
whence  issued  those  dreadful  cries. 

When  the  reckless  woman  entered  this  apartment 
she  fully  expected  the  crazed  man  to  fly  at  her  and 
perhaps  to  strangle  her ;  but  he  was  crouching  pite- 
ously  in  a  distant  corner  behind  a  barricade  of  chairs 
and  other  small  articles  of  furniture,  over  which  his 
wild  face  peered  timidly,  convulsed  with  fear.  He 
was  a  small  creature,  with  a  lean  brown  face,  hair  of 
that  pale  hue  which  seems  only  a  darker  shade  of 
flesh-color,  and  small  black  eyes  under  thick,  red 
dish  lids.  His  flaccid  mouth  worked  from  side  to 
side  over  his  projecting  teeth. 

"  The  rats  !  the  rats  I"  he  moaned.  "  Oh,  help  me 
to  drive  them  away  !  Each  has  a  little  one  with  it. 
They  are  talking  rats.  They  say,  'Jean  Givelot, 


228  THE    WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

Satan  has  sent  us  to  gnaw  your  heart  and  let  out 
the  good  brandy  in  it !'  Yes !  yes  !  I  know  it.  I 
have  known  it  a  long  while.  My  heart  is  full  of 
brandy,  like  one  of  those  chocolate  bon-bons  which 
Marie  sent  from  Paris  last  Easter.  Oh,  the  little 
cold  feet !  They  patter  all  over  me !  They  leave 
blisters  full  of  brandy.  Oh !  oh  !  I  sweat  it  at  every 
pore.  I  will  melt  and  stream  away  under  the  door, 
and  then  those  vagabonds  outside  will  dip  me  up  in 
a  cup  and  drink  me !  Ah  !  ah !  how  I  will  burn 
them !  I  am  poisonous  through  and  through. 
These  rats  that  nibble  me, — see  how  they  are 
dying.  There  are  three  layers  on  the  floor.  They 
swell  like  drums  as  soon  as  their  teeth  go  in  me. 
By  and  by  they  will  be  up  to  my  knees,  then  to  my 
breast.  Oh  !  help  !  help !  They  will  rise  above 
my  head  and  suffocate  me !  I  shall  die  horribly ! 
It  is  what  Marie  said.  She  would  say,  'Jean 
Givelot,  if  you  do  not  mend  your  ways,  some  day 
you  will  perish  horribly/  Oh  !  oh !  Marie !  Marie ! 
bonne  maman !  call  away  the  rats !  call  away  the 
rats  !  I  will  be  good  !  I  will  be  good !" 

XXII. 

Madame  Nadrovine  threw  aside  her  heavy  cloak, 
and  advanced  towards  him.  He  had  not  noticed 
her  when  she  entered  the  room,  but  now  as  she 
approached  him  in  her  long  white  peignoir  he 
uttered  a  low  wail  of  terror  and  clutched  his  face 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  229 

in  both  hands,  flattening  himself  against  the  wall 
behind. 

"  Oh !  oh !  I  called  bonne  mam  an !  and  there  she 
is  in  her  long  white  grave-clothes.  Good  bonne 
marnan,  dear,  kind,  good  bonne  maman,  don't  hurt 
your  poor,  poor  little  Jean,  who  promises  to  be  good. 
I  will  never  steal  the  liqueur  of  the  brandied  peaches 
again.  I  will  take  out  the  stones  for  you  and  peel 
them  all  day  long.  Ugh !  how  she  smells  of  the 
grave !  how  she  smells  of  the  grave !"  he  ended,  in 
a  lower  tone,  as  though  to  himself. 

"Come,"  said  Madame  Nadrovine,  soothingly, 
"  I  am  not  angry.  I  have  come  to  help  you  to  be 
good.  See,  first  I  will  drive  all  the  rats  away."  She 
took  up  a  towel  from  one  of  the  chairs  and  began 
whipping  the  air  and  floor  with  it.  She  walked 
slowly  around  the  room,  beating  it  about  her,  and 
then,  after  making  the  motions  of  driving  things 
out  of  the  door,  she  closed  it  and  returned  quietly. 

"  You  see,  they  are  all  gone,"  she  said,  in  her  calm, 
reassuring  voice,  "  and  I  have  pushed  the  dead  ones 
out  with  my  foot.  It  is  all  quiet.  Come  and  lie  on 
the  bed  while  I  say  a  charm  that  will  make  the  brandy 
in  your  heart  evaporate  and  let  you  sleep." 

He  glanced  timidly  at  her  through  his  quivering 
fingers,  which  he  parted  a  little. 

"Then  you  are  not  angry?  You  will  not \beat 
me?" 

"  Certainly  not.  You  see  that  I  have  driven  all 
20 


230  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

the  rats  away.  Come  and  let  me  help  you  on  the 
bed." 

"  But,  bonne  niaman,  you  used  always  to  beat  me 
when  I  stole  the  liqueur ;  and  then,  too,  you  look  so 
horrible  in  your  long  shroud.  It  makes  me  creep 
all  over.  I  feel  as  though  I  were  lined  with  ice." 

"  Silly  fellow  !  this  is  not  my  shroud.  This  is  the 
robe  that  I  wear  as  an  angel.  If  you  will  come  and 
lie  on  the  bed,  I  will  let  you  hold  a  fold  of  it,  and  it 
will  make  you  sleep  and  drive  away  all  evil  dreams." 

She  began  to  take  away  the  pile  of  chairs  and  foot 
stools  one  by  one,  talking  to  him  in  a  low,  even 
voice  all  the  while.  He  would  shrink  nervously 
away  as  the  white  fingers  came  near  him,  but  sub 
mitted  docilely,  and  at  last  stepped  forward  and 
allowed  himself  to  be  guided  to  the  bed.  Just  as 
he  put  one  knee  on  it,  however,  he  gave  a  howl  of 
terror  and  caught  Madame  Nadrovine  about  the 
knees,  plunging  his  head  into  the  damp  folds  of 
her  gown. 

"Oh!  oh!"  he  moaned,  "there  are  worms  in  it ! 
— black  worms,  with  heads  like  little  goblins, — two 
white  dots  for  eyes,  and  a  mark  for  the  nose  and 
mouth !  they  are  like  the  figures  you  used  to  draw 
for  me  on  my  slate,  bonne  maman  !  Do  not  make 
me  get  in  there  !  I  shall  die  !  I  shall  die  of  horror ! 
They  stand  on  their  tails  and  wave  from  side  to  side. 
Oh,  you  will  kill  me  if  you  make  me  get  in  there !" 

Madame  Nadrovine  shook  him  off  with  a  gesture 


THE  WITNESS  OF   THE  SUN.  231 

of  angry  disgust.  He  fell  back,  supporting  himself 
with  one  hand,  and  staring  up  at  her. 

"You  know  you  are  angry,  bonne  maman,"  he 
whimpered.  "You  know  you  mean  to  beat  me. 
But  why  did  you  put  the  worms  there,  if  you  wanted 
me  to  get  in  the  bed  ?" 

Great  tears  began  to  roll  down  his  face,  and  he 
tucked  them  in  his  mouth  with  his  tongue  as  they 
fell,  still  blinking  up  at  her.  She  made  a  strong 
eifort  and  regained  her  patience. 

"Come,  stupid  boy,"  she  said.  "There  are  no 
worms  there  now.  I  have  turned  them  all  into 
little  sparrows,  and  they  have  flown  away.  Look, 
I  assure' you  it  is  so." 

She  finally  coaxed  him  to  lie  down,  and  after  about 
fifteen  minutes  the  anodyne  which  the  doctor  had 
given  him  before  leaving  began  to  work,  and  he  fell 
into  a  heavy,  stertorous  sleep,  with  his  flabby  lips 
hanging  loosely,  and  his  eyeballs  showing  in  glazed 
streaks  between  his  fleshy  lids. 

Madame  Nad ro vine  sat  in  a  low  chair  opposite 
the  bed,  and  took  in  every  detail  of  the  unconscious 
mass  of  ugliness  with  her  clear,  cold  eyes, — the  thin, 
clammy  hair,  streaking  the  bulging  forehead,  the 
pufting  in  and  out  of  the  swollen  lips  with  the 
harsh  breaths  that  escaped  them,  the  revolting  coarse 
ness  of  throat  and  nostrils,  and  the  pendulous,  red 
ear-lobes  covered  with  a  fuzz  of  whitish  hair. 

He  slept  on  and  on,  and  she  sat  without  moving, 


232  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

never  taking  her  eyes  from  that  bleared  face.  Her 
fair,  naked  feet,  covered  with  dried  sand,  were  crossed 
unconcernedly  in  front  of  her,  and  she  had  thrown 
one  of  her  arms  over  the  back  of  the  chair;  the 
other  followed  listlessly  the  curve  of  her  thigh  out 
lined  by  the  damp  crape.  In  the  street  outside  the 
crowd  was  thinning,  but  some  remained  and  whis 
pered  together  with  important  noddings  and  finger- 
shakings.  Every  one  was  on  the  lookout  for  the 
doctor,  being  desirous  to  be  the  first  to  impart  to 
him  the  news  of  the  strange  woman  who  had  ap 
peared  suddenly  out  of  the  night,  "  like  a  great  black 
witch,"  as  one  of  the  men  said. 

When  poor  Givelot's  ravings  finally  ceased,  they 
were  more  convinced  than  ever  that  she  had  some 
unholy  power  which  she  used  freely  to  soothe  him. 

"  I  tell  you  she  is  a  witch,"  insisted  the  sailor, 
wisely.  "She  has  just  the  look  in  her  eyes  of  a 
Breton  woman  I  once  saw,  who  had  eaten  the  livers 
of  ten  black  cats,  raw,  at  midnight,  lying  face  down 
on  her  father's  grave,  and  after  that  she  could  drive 
out  devils  and  see  things  that  she  couldn't  feel.  I 
tell  you  I  know  what  I  say  !" 

Madame  Nadrovine  continued  her  silent  watch.  It 
had  lasted  now  for  nearly  two  hours.  As  the  clock 
over  the  door  gave  a  wheezy  click  preparatory  to 
striking,  she  rose  and  approached  the  bed.  Givelot 
had  not  moved.  An  idea  had  been  forming  in  the 
woman's  mind  for  some  time  past.  She  put  her  hand 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  233 

on  the  pillow,  and  looked  over  her  shoulder  around 
the  room.  No  one  was  there.  The  door  was  closed 
and  latched.  There  was  a  little  plaster-cast  figure 
of  the  Virgin  on  a  bracket  at  the  foot  of  the  bed, 
and  she  went  and  kneeled  down  before  it  in  silence, 
her  large  eyes  fastened  on  its  sugar-like  pink  dra 
peries.  Then  she  rose  and  came  back  to  the  man's 
side. 

"It  will  be  the  expiation;  it  will  wipe 'out  that 
other  kiss,  and  my  son  will  be  restored  to  me/7 

Stooping,  she  pressed  her  fresh,  cool  lips  to  those 
of  Jean  Givelot,  through  which  his  breath,  scorch 
ing  with  fever  and  liquor,  escaped  in  gusts. 

It  was  her  desire  to  woo  death  in  the  most  horrible 
way  possible,  to  take  the  fever,  and  to  be  forgiven  by 
Nadrovine  on  her  death-bed. 

Before  daybreak  Madame  Nadrovirie  was  herself 
raving  in  another  room  at  the  Cafe"  Dore",  but  not 
with  "the  -fever."  She  was  threatened  with  pneu 
monia,  and  the  little  thermometer  which  the  doctor 
slipped  under  her  arm  already  registered  one  hun 
dred  and  four  degrees. 

Nadrovine — or  Brother  Fe"licien,  as  he  was  now 
called — having  obtained  permission  from  the  abbe"  to 
have  inquiries  made  in  Alceron  regarding  his  mother, 
she  was  moved  as  soon  as  possible  to  a  home  con 
ducted  by  some  Sceurs  Blancs  about  fifteen  miles 
from  the  village.  The  journey,  though  attended 
with  every  possible  precaution,  had  the  effect  of 
20* 


234  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

throwing  her  again  into  a  hot  fever  and  delirium, 
in  which  state  she  remained  for  nearly  thirteen  days. 
One  would  scarcely  have  known  her.  Her  beautiful 
tresses  cut  close  to  her  head  disclosed  its  delicate 
symmetry,  which  had  been  somewhat  concealed  by 
the  abundance  of  dark  braids.  Her  fine  skin  had 
assumed  the  livid,  damp  appearance  of  a  wax  figure 
slightly  melted  by  a  series  of  long  summer  days. 
Against  it  her  graceful  sweeping  brows  stood  out 
boldly,  almost  harshly,  as  though  one  had  tied  a 
narrow  band  of  black  velvet  about  her  forehead. 
Her  dark  eyes,  constantly  rolling,  could  be  seen  in 
bluish,  raised  shadows  under  her  lids.  Her  cheeks 
and  lips  had  fallen,  becoming  drawn  and  yellowish, 
and  her  whole  face  had  that  withered  look  which 
one  sees  in  a  tea-rose  that  has  been  placed  too  near  a 
fire. 

Those  calm  and  stately  maidens  with  their  serene 
faces  framed  in  sleek,  iron-glazed  linen,  heard  strange 
words  during  that  month  of  steady  nursing.  For 
hours  and  hours  the  monotonous  murmur  would  go 
on,  almost  as  though  she  were  talking  in  her  sleep. 
One  strange  peculiarity  was  that  she  rarely  unclosed 
her  eyes,  and  never  when  delirious.  They  seemed  to 
be  turned  inward  on  her  own  perplexed,  suffering 
spirit.  She  always  fancied  that  her  son  was  again  a 
baby  lying  in  her  eager  arms. 

"You  see  how  strong  he  is,"  she  would  say. 
"  When  he  stretches,  his  little  back  is  like  steel ; 


THE    WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  235 

and  I  can  scarcely  hold  his  chin  when  he  yawns. 
And  he  pinches  my  breast  with  his  little  fingers 
when  he  is  nursing,  until  it  hurts ;  I  tell  you,  it 
really  hurts.  There  are  little  blue  marks  where  he 
has  hurt  me.  Oh,  it  is  divine  to  feel  the  little  mouth 
drawing  my  life  into  his !  It  seems  as  though  I  were 
full  of  the  light  of  heaven,  and  that  he  fed  upon  it 
instead  of  milk.  I  did  not  wish  a  child,  you  know. 
Now  I  do  not  wish  anything  else.  He  lies  in  my 
breast  at  night  until  the  warmth  of  his  little  body 
makes  us  both  moist  where  our  flesh  comes  in  con 
tact.  Sometimes  I  love  him  so  that  I  desire  to  hurt 
him.  Then  I  have  to  call  to  Elsa  to  come  quick  ! 
quick  !  I  tell  her,  and  she  laughs.  She  tells  me 
that  I  will  not  feel  so  when  I  have  six  more  just 
like  him.  Just  like  him  !  The  blessed  Mary  knew 
.that  no  other  could  be  like  her  first-born ;  and  it  is 
so  that  I  feel.  '  Out  of  the  strong  came  forth  sweet 
ness/  It  is  like  that  about  Ivan  and  his  son.  All 
the  love  that  I  ought  to  have  given  my  husband 
I  give  to  his  child.  That  is  not  disloyal.  It  is  part 
of  him  as  well  as  of  me.  I  love  him  in  loving  his 
son.  Oh,  I  cannot  bear  to  think  that  my  baby's  lips 
will  ever  be  pressed  to  those  of  another  woman  with 
more  love  than  they  have  felt  for  me  !  I  do  not 
wish  him  to  marry.  Perhaps  he  will  be  a  great 
priest.  Oh,  I  cannot  let  him  grow  out  of  my  arms 
into  those  of  another  woman  !  Just  to  think  that 
she  who  may  steal  him  from  me  is  perhaps  yet  un- 


236  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

born,  that  perhaps  they  who  are  to  be  her  parents 
are  yet  unknown  to  each  other !  May  they  never 
meet!  I  wish  that  in  heaven  I  may  always  rest 
without  pain,  as  one  after  great  pain,  with  my  baby 
in  my  arms.  I  do  not  wish  another.  It  would  seem 
like  sacrilege.  Perhaps  the  Virgin  Mother  would 
let  me  whisper  to  her  of  my  bliss.  Perhaps  she 
would  come  sometimes  and  talk  to  me  while  I  nursed 
him,  and  kiss  his  beautiful  brow.  And  I  would 
tell  her  of  how  I  feared  and  dreaded,  and  perhaps 
she  would  tell  me  that  she  had  feared  and  dreaded 
too.  And  then  we  would  both  fall  to  sleep  upon 
her  breast.  Oh,  he  is  so  sweet ! — so  sweet !  Look 
at  his  little  chest :  Elsa  says  that  it  is  very  broad, 
the  broadest  she  ever  saw.  He  will  be  tall,  and 
very  strong.  Oh,  to  think  that  the  day  will. come 
when  he  will  be  stronger  than  I  am  !  Ah !  if  we 
could  only  die  together  now  and  remain  a  mother 
and  child  forever  in  heaven !" 

It  was  in  this  way  that  she  would  murmur  on  for 
days  and  nights  at  a  time. 

XXIII. 

It  was  only  two  weeks  after  Nadrovine  had  taken 
his  vow,  and  at  the  height  of  his  mother's  illness, 
that  he  was  sent  on  an  errand  of  mercy  to  a  family 
of  starving  wretches  who  were  also  ill  with  the  fever, 
and  who  lived  in  Vaudebec,  a  village  some  ten  miles 
distant.  The  road  lay  inland  for  about  seven  miles, 


THE   WITNESS   OF   THE  SUN.  237 

and  then  followed  the  coast,  which  was  totally  unlike 
the  rocky  cliffs  upon  which  Alceron  descended  in  a 
series  of  terraces  towards  the  quays.  The  beach  was 
a  broad,  level  stretch  of  fawn-colored  sand,  across 
which  the  figure  of  a  girl  rolling  her  wheelbarrow  of 
sea-weed  would  come  out  into  picturesque  relief  as 
she  walked  slowly,  her  sabots  compressing  the  wet 
sand  about  them  until  it  looked  like  cracking  ice 
with  each  footstep.  Now  a  woman  on  a  donkey 
approached,  her  figure  reflected,  broken  but  life-like, 
in  the  strips  of  sand-divided  pools  in  front.  Chil 
dren  rolled  laughing  in  the  hazy  sunlight,  adorning 
themselves  with  shells  and  broad  ribbons  of  sea 
weed,  and  burying  one  another  in  the  sand.  One 
little  imp  of  seven  snatched  away  his  sister's  necker 
chief  as  Nadrovine  advanced,  leaving  her  plump, 
reddening  shoulders  bare,  in  order  to  pull  it  over 
his  charmingly  impertinent  little  visage,  as  though  it 
were  a  cowl.  He  held  his  hands  folded  and  walked 
along  behind  Brother  Fe"licien,  imitating  to  the  full 
compass  of  his  sturdy  legs  the  monk's  slow,  swing 
ing  gait.  Nadrovine  turned  and  smiled  at  him  over 
his  shoulder.  The  pranks  of  children  never  irritated 
him. 

He  reached  the  village  at  last,  and  was  returning 
saddened  and  inexpressibly  exhausted  by  the  brutal, 
violent  misery  which  he  had  witnessed,  when  a  clear 
voice  roused  him, — a  child's  voice. 

"  Oh  !"  it  rang  out  in  a  note  of  distress,  "  what 


238  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

shall  I  do?  My  poor  Zi-Zi !  I  buried  him  alive 
just  to  have  an  effect  on  that  hard-hearted  Nico- 
letta,  and  now  I  can't  find  his  grave !" 

Nadrovine  stopped  short,  not  knowing  which  way 
to  turn,  and  little  Lotta  Boutry  flashed  by  him  on 
her  slender  red-silk  legs,  her  frock  of  white  flannel 
blowing  back  in  the  steady  wind,  and  her  dark  head 
uncovered.  The  child's  skirts  touched  him  as  she 
flew.  And  then  another  figure  advanced.  It  was 
Ilva,  so  slight,  so  pale,  that  she  looked  like  a  moon 
beam  which  had  assumed  a  woman's  shape.  She 
wore  a  gown  of  black  serge,  and  there  was  a  black 
silk  handkerchief  knotted  about  her  throat.  She 
had  no  hat,  and  carried  a  large  raw-silk  umbrella 
over  her  shoulder,  turning  it  listlessly  as  she  walked. 
One  could  see  the  violet  tones  of  delicate  health  in 
her  throat  and  temples  at  some  distance. 

She  smiled  in  answer  to  the  child's  appeal,  but 
her  eyes  were  piteously  grave  in  contrast.  Her  voice 
was  so  low  that  Nadrovine  could  not  hear  what  she 
said ;  he  only  saw  that  they  were  coming  towards  him 
hand  in  hand.  His  presence  of  mind  forsook  him 
utterly.  He  had  that  sensation  of  being  petrified 
which  assails  one  sometimes  in  a  dream  where  one 
finds  one's  self  standing  on  a  railway,  facing  an  ad 
vancing  train,  and  yet  powerless  to  leap  aside.  They 
were  quite  close  to  him;  the  child  almost  touched 
him.  A  fatal  weakness  came  over  him,  a  deadly  sen 
sation  of  blackness,  in  which  the  world  seemed  swing- 


THE    WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  239 

ing  in  great  circles,  and  his  very  marrow  dissolving 
in  an  icy  nausea. 

"  Oh,  cousine !"  shrieked  the  child,  "  look  at  the 
poor  monk  !  He  is  ill !  He  is  falling  !" 

He  felt  the  girPs  nervous  arm  thrust  under  his,  and 
her  slight  figure  brace  itself  to  support  him. 

"  Lean  on  me,  I  beg  of  you,"  she  said,  anxiously. 
"  You  must  be  suffering  very  much.  Are — are  you 
hungry?"  she  stammered  a  little  with  a  gracious 
embarrassment.  "We  have  our  luncheon  here, 
which  we  do  not  want.  We  were  just  talking  of 
giving  it  to  the  first  little  child  that  we  met.  I 
pray  you  to  lean  on  me.  I  am  much  stronger  than 
I  look."  He  was  forced  to  catch  at  the  delicate 
shoulder  in  order  to  stand.  Her  eyes  fell  on  his 
bare  hand.  It  was  sufficient. 

"  Vladimir !"  she  said,  in  a  voice  which  seemed 
to  sweep  away  earth  and  sky  and  to  leave  only  their 
two  lives  beating  there  against  each  other  once  more. 
It  was  only  an  instant :  in  another  he  had  freed  him 
self  of  her  touch  and  stepped  back,  shuddering  vio 
lently,  and  trying  to  conceal  his  face  from  her.  She 
followed  him ;  she  held  him  again  with  her  hands. 
Again  all  things  seemed  to  slip  from  him,  but  the 
consciousness  that  she  was  there,  near  him,  and  that 
her  voice  spoke  his  name.  He  could  not  even  say 
hers  in  return.  His  lips  were  sealed.  His  newly- 
taken  vows  bound  him.  All  his  blood  seemed  foam-i 
ing  upward  to  his  heart  and  swelling  for  a  vent. 


240  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

He  tried  to  shake  her  off.  She  held  him  desper 
ately  :  they  half  slipped,  and  in  recovering  himself 
his  cowl  was  shaken  back. 

"  Oh,  my  God !"  she  cried,  in  a  tone  of  indescrib 
able  pain,  "will  you  not  even  speak  to  me?  And 
you  have  been  ill.  You  are  changed.  You  look 
older.  It  frightens  me  !  You  frighten  me !  Run, 
run,  Lotta, — run  away  to  your  dolls.  I  will  come 
presently.  I  have  much  to  say  to  Signor  Na- 
drovine." 

The  child  went  at  once,  her  little,  serious  face 
pallid  with  the  excessive  greatness  of  the  shock. 
She  could  not  resist  turning  her  head  every  now 
and  then,  as  she  walked  away,  to  see  what  they  were 
doing.  They  still  stood  where  she  had  left  them, 
Nadrovine  with  his  head  bent  and  turned  away,  Ilva 
with  her  whole  figure  yearning  towards  him,  her 
hands  locked  together  in  a  gesture  of  impassioned 
prayer.  The  child  sat  down  in  the  shade  of  the 
umbrella  which  she  rested  on  the  sand,  and  tried  to 
compose  herself  by  talking  to  her  dolls. 

"  I  was  going  to  get  maman  to  make  you  a  monk's 
gown,  my  dear  Zi-Zi,"  she  said,  gravely ;  "  but  I 
don't  think  it  will  do.  It  seems  to  change  people 
horribly.  I  don't  think  I  should  ever  have  known 
Monsieur  Nadrovine  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Cousine 
Ilva.  Perhaps  when  Viola  gets  broken — yes,  per 
haps  then  I  will  let  you  have  a  monk's  gown." 
She  had  placed  the  umbrella,  with  her  usual  dainty 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  241 

discreetness,  so  that  it  hid  Nadrovine  and  Ilva  from 
her  sight,  and  she  was  so  far  away  that  she  could 
hear  nothing. 

"  I  know  you  will  speak  to  me,  I  know  you  will 
speak  to  me,  Vladimir,"  the  girl  was  saying. 
"What  is  it?  Are  you  too  ill  to  speak?  Oh, 
Vladimir,  tell  me  what  to  do.  Think  of  what  I 
have  suffered.  I  would  have  died,  I  think,  only  I 
was  so  strong  I  could  not.  I  used  to  think  some 
times,  '  Now  it  is  coming.  This  pain  is  too  awful 
to  last.  God  would  not  wish  one  to  endure  such 
pain  any  longer/  But  then  a  dulness  would  come 
for  a  time  instead  of  death,  and  I  would  feel  noth 
ing  for  hours.  I  could  not  even  believe  that  I  had 
ever  felt  anything.  It  did  not  seem  to  me  as  though 
I  could  have  suffered  as  I  thought.  And  then,  all 
at  once,  when  I  felt  safe  and  was  trying  to  think 
only  of  heaven  and  the  peace  of  God,  it  would  come 
crashing  back.  I  used  to  feel  as  though  my  soul 
and  body  were  being  ground  together  in  a  great  red- 
hot  iron  hand.  Oh,  Vladimir,  you  are  mine, — you 
are  my  very  own,  as  I  am  yours !  You  promised 
— you  vowed  it  to  me.  Any  vows  that  you  have 
taken  since  cannot  wipe  out  those.  Oh,  Vladimir, 
remember  !  You  have  been  ill.  It  was  a  madness. 
I  know  it  so  well.  Many  and  many  a  time  I  have 
longed  to  become  a  nun,  and  then  I  would  think, 
'  'No  I  God  means  us  to  meet  again.  He  means  us 
to  have  each  other.  I  feel  it.  I  must  wait.  I  must 

L          q  21 


242  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

be  patient/  Vladimir,  I  have  been  so  patient, — I 

have  waited  so  long My  God !  he  turns  from 

me !  .  .  .  He  does  not  love  me  any  more  !  He  does 
not  love  me  any  more  !" 

A  groaning  cry  was  wrenched  from  Nadrovine. 
In  a  moment  the  girl  was  .on  her  knees  beside  him, 
kissing  his  coarse  gown,  reaching  upward  with  her 
little,  thin  hands  for  his,  clutching  his  wide  sleeves, 
sobbing,  laughing,  talking,  all  in  a  breath  : 

"Vladimir,  Vladimir,  you  will  speak  to  me? 
You  do  love  me?  You  will  tell  me  everything, 
my  darling,  my  darling?  Oh,  was  it  because  you 
thought  my  father's  death  would  stand  between  us? 
Vladimir,  I  prayed  to  our  blessed  Lord  with  fast 
ing,  to  guide  me,  and  as  it  was  an  accident,  ...  as 

it  was  an  accident Oh,  Vladimir,  at  least  we 

can  love  each  other,  if  we  cannot  be  married.  At 
least  you  will  let  me  love  you,  and  know  that  you 
love  me.  Dear,  I  knew  that  it  would  come  between 
us.  I  knew  that  you  thought  I  would  never  forgive 
you.  You  did  not  know  me.  You  did  not  know 
me.  Ah,  but  the  sun  can  be  a  witness  to  my  love 
for  you  !  Ah,  Vladimir,  Vladimir,  it  is  such  joy  to 
see  you,  to  be  with  you  again,  that  it  is  almost  as 
much  a  pain  as  sorrow.  Oh,  turn  your  face  to  me ! 
let  me  see  your  eyes, — let  me  see  you,  Vladimir ! 
Give  me  your  hands  and  lift  me  up." 

She  kneeled,  straining  her  slight  body  upward,  yet 
without  touching  him,  her  pure  face  as  pathetic  in 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  243 

contrast  with  her  slender  black-gowned  figure  as  a 
flower  left  blooming  on  a  charred  stem. 

He  dared  not  look  at  her.  He  tried  not  to  hear 
her, — not  to  think. 

She  waited  for  him  a  long  while.  At  last  she  said, 
in  a  voice  exquisitely  gentle  in  its  faltering  grief, — 

"  Then  you  do  not  love  me  ?" 

Again  she  waited.  At  last  she  rose  from  her 
knees,  the  damp  sand  clinging  in  patches  to  her 
black  skirt. 

"  I  will  go.  ...  It  must  be  very  painful.  If 
you  will  pray  for  me  sometimes,  ...  I  will  always 
...  I  will  always  .  .  .  "  She  stopped,  struggling 
to  control  herself,  and  putting  her  hand  to  her  throat, 
which  ached  sharply.  "I  will  .  .  .  yes,  always 
.. .  .  it  is  for  always  with  me  ...  I  have  taken 
no  new  vows  ...  It  cannot  be  a  sin  for  me  .  .  . 
But  sometimes,  ...  if  you  will,  .  .  .  just  a  word 
when  you  pray  for — for  those  who  are  not  happy 
....  Since  you  will  not  speak  to  me,  if  you  will 
only  lift  your  hand  ...  I  will  understand,  .  .  . 
and  .  .  .  and  go." 

There  was  another  silence,  and  then  she  turned  to 
go,  very  slowly,  dragging  each  slender  foot  as  though 
in  bodily  pain.  All  at  once  he  turned,  straightening 
his  whole  figure.  He  held  out  his  arms  to  her,  his 
face  blanched  with  an  unutterable  struggle.  His 
voice  rang  out  calling  her  name  : 

"  Ilva !  .  .  .  Do   not  go.  ...  I   am  a  coward. 


244  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

.  .  .  But  I  love  you."  As  she  rushed  towards  him, 
lightly,  swiftly,  her  arms  extended  almost  like  a  thing 
flying,  his  hands  dropped  at  his  sides. 

"  Do  not  touch  me,"  he  said.  "  I  am  a  coward, 
.  .  .  and  perjured.  Do  not  let  me  break  more  than 
one  vow.  ...  I  will  speak, — yes ;  but  I  must  not 
touch  you.  .  .  .  Help  me.  .  .  .  You  see  how  weak 
I  am.  Do  not  tempt  me !" 

"  Oh,  my  dear  one,"  she  answered,  "  indeed,  indeed 
I  will  not.  I  will  even  go  at  once,  if  you  wish  it. 
It  is  enough  to  have  heard  you  say  that  you  love 
me.  Tell  me,  what  is  it  that  you  wish  of  me  ?  Why, 
I  could  take  your  hand  and  walk  calmly  out  into  the 
sea  there  and  be  drowned  with  you  if  it  was  needful. 
Or  I  could  go  by  myself,  if  it  would  help  you.  Just 
to  have  seen  you  and  heard  you  speak,  saying  you 
loved  me, — and  then  my  name  once  more, — ah !  that 
was  sweet !"  She  stood  gazing  at  him,  great  tears 
brimming  in  her  eyes,  and  her  hands  clasped  together 
against  her  breast. 

"  Tell  me ;  and  whatever  you  say,  I  will  do  it," 
she  repeated. 

"  Forgive,  .  .  .  forgive !"  stammered  the  man, 
completely  overmastered.  "It  is  terrible  to  suffer 
so.  .  .  Perhaps  for  me  .  .  .  but  what  have  you  done, 
.  .  .  my  star,  .  .  .  my  lily  ?"  He  muttered  to  him 
self,  "  My  God,  my  God !  Thou  wast  crucified.  .  .  . 
Have  mercy." 

"  Oh,  Vladimir,"  said  the  girl,  "  do  not  think-that 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  245 

I  will  give  you  more  to  bear !  I  will  try  to  help 
you  in  every  way.  I  am  here  as  long  as  you  need 
me.  And  when  you  bid  me  to  go, — ah,  you  shall 
see  how  obedient  I  will  be." 

"  It  is  not  as  you  think,"  he  said.  "  That  came 
between  us.  Yes ;  .  .  .  but  I  did  not  mean  it.  There 
was  more.  I  can  never  explain ;  but  you  will  trust 
me.  There  was  more, — more, — which  made  it  im 
possible.  ...  It  was  for  that  I  became  a  monk. 
But  you  will  believe  that  I  would  have  been  true  to 
you  in  love  and  in  purity  with  nothing  but  your 
memory  to  bind  me  until  I  died."  These  last  sen 
tences  rang  out  passionately,  unbroken,  triumphant. 

"  Oh,  with  all  my  soul !  with  all  my  soul !"  she 
cried,  her  face  radiant.  "  I  trust  you,  believe  you, 
love  you !  It  will  be  forever !" 

"  Yes,  forever,"  he  said,  making  the  sign  of  the 
cross  between  them.  They  stood  gazing  at  each 
other  in  a  heart-broken  silence. 

"  And  you  must  go  away  from  me  ?"  she  said  at 
last,  wistfully.  "  I  must  leave  you  ?  .  .  .  Tell  me," 
timidly,  "would  it  be  a  sin  for  me  just  to  kiss  your 
hand?" 

He  could  not  answer  her,  and,  taking  his  silence 
for  consent,  she  approached  him ;  but  he  folded  his 
hands  in  his  sleeves,  making  a  faint  gesture  of  nega 
tion  with  his  head. 

"I  must  not?"  she  said,  her  sweet  face  falling. 
"  "Well,  then,  since  you  wish  it.  ...  You  shall  see 
21* 


246  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

how  brave  I  am.  ...  Must  it  be  without  anything, 
.  .  .  without  even  so  much  as  touching  your  hair  ? 
.  .  .  Well,  then,  I  will, — I  will.  ...  I  ask  the 
dear  Christ  to  be  with  you.  .  .  .  Perhaps  if  I  am 
patient  .  .  .  And  there  is  all  eternity.  It  will  be 
a  sweet  pain  ...  to  wait  for  you.  ...  And  I  am 
not  very  strong." 

Nadrovine  buried  his  face  in  his  hands,  trembling 
in  every  limb.  The  tide  was  going  out.  The  shallow 
pools  glowed  like  vast  opals  in  the  level  light  of  the 
sun.  The  west  was  brilliant  with  crimson  clouds  in 
the  shape  of  a  great  flamingo  flying  southward. 
Lotta,  tired  of  her  one-sided  conversation  with  her 
wax  and  china  family  under  the  umbrella,  had  taken 
off  her  shoes  and  stockings  and  was  wading  about 
among  the  pools.  She  was  quite  far  out, — a  tiny 
splash  of  indigo  among  the  soft  and  vivid  hues  of 
heaven  and  water. 

"  Ah,  don't !  don't  I"  pleaded  Ilva.  "  You  break 
my  heart.  .  .  .  And,  after  all,  ...  is  it  not  a  sweet 
thought  ?  .  .  .  We  shall  have  each  other  there.  .  .  . 
I  will  be  so  patient,  so  brave.  .  .  .  Ah,  Vladimir, 
...  I  have  such  a  beautiful  thought,  .  .  .  oh,  a 
thought  so  divine  that  my  flesh  seems  to  melt  away 
and  leave  me  just  my  soul  to  remember  it !  It  is 
this :  I  will  live  so  pure,  so  true,  so  good  a  life  on 
earth,  that  when  I  come  to  you  in  heaven  I  will 
take  you  by  the  hand,  and  you  shall  hear  with  me 
the  words  that  our  dear  Lord  will  say  to  tell  me  of 


THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN.  247 

the  joy  that  I  have  given  Him  and  the  love  that  He 
has  always  poured  upon  me !" 

Nadrovine  remained  gazing  at  her  in  unspeakable 
awe  and  adoration.  The  whole  light  of  the  gorgeous 
sky  was  upon  them.  Her  pale  hair  was  like  still 
flame  about  her  face, — like  a  halo.  He  felt  that  he 
must  kneel  to  her  as  in  worship.  And  there  was  a 
beautiful,  happy  smile  on  her  face. 

All  at  once  a  shrill  cry  rang  out,  bringing  them 
back  to  earth : 

"  Cousine !  .  .  .  cousine !  I  am  sinking !  I  am 
sinking  in  a  great  hole  !" 

They  flew  together.  The  child  was  already  up  to 
her  knees  in  the  quicksand.  Wrapping  his  arms 
around  her,  Nadrovine  drew  her  out  by  a  supreme 
effort,  and  threw  her  from  him  as  far  as  he  could. 

"  Run !  run  !"  he  called  to  her.  "  Ilva,  run,  my 
darling !  I  do  not  know  how  far  this  slough  reaches. 
It  has  me,— I  feel  it.  Run  for  help !" 

She  turned  from  Lotta,  whom  she  had  hastened  to 
soothe,  and  saw  that  his  heavy  weight  had  caused 
him  to  sink  nearly  to  his  waist  in  this  short  time. 
She  knew  that  help  was  impossible.  Her  mind  was 
made  up  in  an  instant. 

"  Run  !  run,  Lotta !"  she  said,  echoing  his  words. 
"  Run  for  help,  and  do  not  look  back,  or  you  will 
lose  time." 

The  child  started  off  like  a  hare.  With  a  swift 
movement  Ilva  sprang  into  the  quicksand  at  Na- 


248  THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  SUN. 

drovine's  side.  She  put  her  arms  about  his  neck, 
her  lips  to  his.  Far  along  the  broad  brown  sands 
the  light  figure  of  the  child  scudded  with  the  speed 
of  desperation.  The  distant  tide  made  a  soft  moan 
ing.  A  flock  of  sails  leaning  to  westward  passed 
into  a  shaft  of  rose-colored  light.  The  clouds  floated 
on  serenely, — of  gauze, — of  soft  wool, — of  banners 
of  crape  across  the  heavens.  At  last  the  sky  was  a 
placid  dome  of  topaz  above  the  quiet  sea.  Over 
shore  and  inland  a  beautiful  peace  brooded,  broken 
only  by  the  calm  wings  of  a  nestward  dove,  the  one 
living  thing  visible. 

The  Sun  had  been  a  Witness. 


THE   END. 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

I 


